When we observe the waves which course through us—
The inner lives that continue to go on—
Unfolding the scroll of hidden lives
Becomes the distant past.

We feed the bodies of churning water
Which span the breadth of time.
Waters which flow in close proximity
To wandering, wavering lines.

Only then,
Near the edge of setting Sun—
Abound with wavering lines—
Will the doors of binding light unlock
And reveal the shores of on and on.