I Am Mailing You Another Country

I am mailing you another country
where the streets are paved in glass
and your feet are dirty.
I am mailing you the red streetcars
that run on parables.
I am mailing to you also
a package of superior signs
which you have the liberty
to plant as your purpose
along the tracks
after you pass.
For you shall travel them.
I am giving you the stone garden of Kindness
and a thousand starving calves.
For they shall live on morals.
They will not eat the kind rocks
nor bite the enduring leaf
with their soft teeth.
And you may hunger after them, proud
of your refusal.
For they shall tempt nothing.
They will grow thin-boned
at their superior feed; observe, even now
they swell with parables.
For as they are thin,
so shall they live.
And they shall never be slaughtered.
Like the dead they shall be unrecognizable.
And you shall praise their distortions.
For they have exceeded their natures.
Along the kind rocks
grows a green moss
that dulls its edge.
You call it love
for what it hides.
And for this purpose and reason
I am mailing you a country
where all the mirrors show your face exactly
and everything dear is changed.