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Rh Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars—and of
 * wombs, and of the fatherstuff,

And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.

Though me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts—voices veiled, and I
 * remove the veil,

Voices indecent, by me clarified and transfigured.

I do not press my finger across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the
 * head and heart,

Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.

I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part
 * and tag of me is a miracle.

Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy
 * whatever I touch or am touched from,

The scent of these arm-pits, aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the
 * creeds.

If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of
 * the spread of my own body.

Translucent mould of me, it shall be you! Shaded ledges and rests, it shall be you! Firm masculine colter, it shall be you.