.....

Brainwashed by beauty,
gift faltering with praise,
I erred in the fertile lands,
where there are places to step.


To deepen the valley with movement,
to give seeds away to the dawn.
To escape from freedom
into the play of echoes.


Cessation is valuable unsought
fear of light is upholstered high
on the lavished tenements.
Raspberries nonexistent stagger
the peripheral forms,
the smell of universal movement,
the religion of death.