Eminent forces give rise to this world. Graceful swaying and warm pulsating are a parapet to access the sublime.

Springs flow, enamoured with their own concerns, Courses assembled in inertia, consumed of only what has been.

As I rest, all else continues. As it always was. Belying a darkness we cannot see beyond. This native impression is all I have to give.

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This love, with its little grace

Is gifted to each chosen place

Glad to receive, most pass it on

They breath, they breed, and bloom anon.

Just vestiges remain, of should and must

Its litter stewn, now caked in dust.

All is spoiled, with such little care

Despite the bless of mercy there 

My passions lichened, as attuned with stone

This form left wither...

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