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6 5 R A I R B U S K A R L K I R C H W E Y In a dove-gray nave (the leather seats are blue), being hour after hour resigned to the perfect boredom of their own passage, in a hush that is hardly devotional, but in which the soul, captive only to its wish to be elsewhere, feels the roaring and brutal friction of it, five hundred knots across each naked fairing, they have drawn the shades deep, as if to spare themselves from the sight of Elysium, its brilliances of cloudscape, where hooded Bruno walks, taught by fire, and Borromini, drawn forever upward by his own ideas’ helix: all those who have built, according to their certainties, somehow in that high place, appareled in daylight 6 6 Y – even the boy once led down the narrow aisle to the realm of gauge and toggle over which presided those who signed his book of life and gave him a silver pin, worthless now, but for one whole day, he counted himself a king of infinite space and, returned through the insubstantial door to his mother and father, in each blind and loving face read his eventual landfall, at what vague bay or winter-brown forest at afternoon he can no longer tell. ...

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