And pass the first and second and third security guards
In their rumpled blue shirts so unlike the splendid robes of angels.
"Morris, I'm here to see Morris," I'll say again in some other name and
Pass through the sealed doors that part because I've been admitted
By the perfumed hand of a cousin so unlike the palms of a trusted saint.
Here in the heart of the guarded place so very unlike heaven
The plump hands of the jeweler will withdraw bright stones again
And lay them out on black velvet so like the stars in the ink black sky.
So like the stars and the sky that I must offer to win my heaven.