Granted a spinning wheel     it cannot go on
     for all time     in the world    in coloured fabrics
a girl turns   moth-wind warm to window   in fields of harvest
     to speak of clipped wings of    wax-
hollow
     bones, feathers as airy cages is often     to talk
of her: she, her, hers, heard      a song as airy cage, wax-
hollow    apocalyptic  in major-key turned     with what small shock back into                                        
minor; but to talk of what we heard     of  her
     as these sorts of light-songs     images in wheel
     as print turns to picture through light to video
     through light this life, this life
is gone,     flying        
                      
      (moon-princess, goodbye).