Catch not what in the shape of the wake,
Tethering sounds of voices, so elfen.
Lying cold out by the rind of a lake
girdling down the the paths of the slippery seven.
Tethering sounds of voices, so elfen.
Lying cold out by the rind of a lake
girdling down the the paths of the slippery seven.
Reason with-in, not with the world outside,
For, the thirst to see is not theirs but mine.
Reason to bridge the vacuous divide
with lines so straight they seem to bend in time.
Shadows, to life some rising, to dark some merging
What is and what Is, is but mine to define
Now here, now there. now awaking, now dying
parting the sky and the ground are but thin moments of time.
