Oh daylight star burning bright red
My shadow stands mute on the mountain
Please whisper my secrete name
Over distant lands I have seen

Will solitude never tire of silence,
And thereby long to sing?
Hearing not of the winds of June,
Means not that they have lost their tune.

Never did I know how subtle,
Was the secret success of silence,
Till thunderous showers ravaged my valleys,
Shattering my stillness to fragments.

Silent mirrors of night-stained waters,
Where do you keep your secret tomorrows?
Floating on petals of glistening calmness.
Then drifting away in shrouded sorrows

The sounds of her sighs
Slid voluptuously
Long into my wakening nights
She made me a lover,
Of common things,
She made me a lover, of light.

Winter rain means little to summer,
Falling as it does in December.
But the cool wind of the years end,
Leaves spring grieving for winters relief,
Weeping as the chilly rain,
Then turns into its frozen lover.

Beauty is a late soaking rain,
on a long dead garden.

Beauty is a sunny face,
On a sad cloudy day.

Beauty is a feather,
Floating lazy in the sky.

Beauty is knowledge
Of times uncomfortable,

Beauty is surreal.