We are not just aiming creatures, but also changing creatures
Ever moving steadily offwards
Acting only when we want to be, or time compels us to be more
Some think, some feel, some find their way in the formidable dark
Some ponder and abhor the sight
But creatures we are nonetheless, in ever undoubted outline
Stark is our contrast
Night is our eyesight
And burning is our ambition bright

Where raindrops crash so quietly
Speaking soft with subtle sounds aloud
And in a language to be seen around
Like moving hands their white ripples fade
Out into conversations crowned with mist
The kind of sweeping breath alive
Which breaths itself out atop the waters edge
Just as words once hung on the morning dew
Now they wake with joy and are gone the next
As a calming way on this crustless wave
The waters return beneath and rest