Yours is the music of the mind, sonorous and sweet.
The sound ferries me to your kingdom. I rise up by your side.
An old flute spills seismic song. It is enough to transfix me.

Yours is the force that put the spark in matter,
The hands that sculpt, making me less inert.
Your lively palms are akimbo to the sun.

The light that kisses the sky is yours too.
The balmy moon begets her glow. She is remote,
a pearl disquieted by treads of men. She gyrates on her wild axis.