Rivers of melted music
fuse into sculpture
around this old oak tree.

The moving air vibrates
sound, shape, sightless shade
spill into my sinner's heart,

That place apart that comes
and flutters on the wind
and is no more..

And so I settle into the coolness of thought,
follow the stream, just as you follow
your heart. 

Run and you'll never
stop running,
mired in light or mired in shade,
run towards
your grave....