There are strange things done,
In the midnight sun,
By followers of crooked lines,
We write maps for those who fall,
Out of love with freedom,
And forget strange latitudes,
Suspended between the sun & the moon
The spaces are filled with,
The weight of love
Truths in moments, pulses in time,
With our teacher, the sacred geometry,
Drawing parallels between,
The symmetry of constellations,
The topography of faces,
Finding it in strange places,
Home is where the river races.