What say thou; sweet rains mean nothing to land -
Be its pride parched, drowning in tears, near death,
Perhaps, - no; rain will mean nothing to land.
What say thou; the wind without Easter's breath
Can reap the barley in the fall. Then reap,
Wind, what thou hath lost before. What say thee -
What, yet again? This chasm, 'tis too deep
To cross with words, to bridge with memory.
Thou means't much; say'st e'en less with words unlit -
Claim the world's brushstrokes, plant again thy means!
Cast away from Earth's polarized orbit
Stand far, stand still - hold this image for me.
What means't the sun? The light of warmth of light;
Means't the world tomorrow be not today bright?

The human ripple
I, beheld the Heron's eye -
stood still, a world Away.

I wish to comb the now distant Eden
Adopting Penelope's marble poise
To find her marvelling Polaris' freedom
Not questioning her heart, unlike my words.
Vaulted abaft* her marmoreal* shoulders                                      
Chiliad* tales won, your silhouette
Decorticating* off African suns.
Oil lamp explorer, icy caves your lamp
Cannot warm; There are paths to cross with will,
Verdant* bridges constellated* with time.
Yet you, Inexhaustible human heart,
Beat with love. You gravedigger of the sky,
Estranged Love, brave forevermore the Afar,
Beyond the doubts of your enduring Heart.