PERHAPS.

Perhaps
The realms of invisible
Will be rendered visible
The realms of untouched
Rendered into tactility
Where the heart will
Wing itself
Into the freshness
Of some infinite facility.

Ready for brokerage of bondage
Into disbarred domains of death
Glazed some visionary perceptions
For the sired eyes to comprehend
Where the hand held in pain
Across the rusty gates of the hell.

Rolling and unrolling
The worlds kept in stealth
Where the wind crosses
Voices of silence still held.