Six white pigeons lined on a roof
Re-arranged to give the order of proof
The magus waits until his hands have finished
Then asks them what they did
Six wide angles in a time of doubt
Give way to senses and what’s allowed
The disease waits until his hands are full
Then he asks them what they’re doing
Six meets seven then multiplies
It’s a universe but a smaller size
The maker waits til his hands are empty
And asks them what have they done
Soundbergs 