It goes,
As I do,
Without saying

I should like to think after all the talk
All the words
And walking are done,
That I have seen a bit of the streets,
The ways and lamplight in the night-
Around the familiar faces
I do not know,
And I should like to think,
I have seen something of Paris
In the Night

When I walk among large cathedrals
All the roof fallen out, and vines
Covering glass above me,
Chiaroscuro a warm glow...
And an embracing shade,
The hint of a stream to the right,
Without tilting the head it can't-
Cannot be seen.
It is a church-
Now it's a church for the past
Sepulcher in girded steel
Reminding,
I should like to think,
After cities crumble to dust,
I have seen something
Of human works retaken by nature

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
When all is,
As I am,
Said and done,
What then, when I am a spent word...

A stroll through melancholy
Is not so bad,
And to see the things in dreams
Cannot be sad,
Hope sits there too with mourning-
On the top spire, I can see it
A pagoda in the snow-
Forgotten,
Infinitely familiar
The walls are more comforting,
More comforting than..
Than lover's skin
And I pause,
And should like to think
I have seen something in dreams,
When in sleep's embrace we are cradled by the Universe, whispering its subtle secrets to us, as we
wander among senescent structures
How-
Our Elders ne'er cease to amaze!

A sound from a parched throat
Is horrible and fascinating-it-
It has all the wonder and shudder wrapped up sighing, singing,
And when it,
As I am,
Is spoken,
Is heard,
What then?
How shall it be finished, when
It takes subtle ear as companion
Rushing through to the heart
The soul
The firmament inside us
Stargazing the Great Blue Arch...

beholden to,
The Awesome Celestial Star Danse

I should like to see infinite perfection
with all its sharp angles and flaws;
The city improbable
Stacked in upon itself,
The trees of a hundred forests
The Crucible of the Universe itself!
And how should it end,
En Paradisium?
In beautiful verdant pastures,
A far green field running back
Fleeing the tide from white shores?
Or a paragon perched in space-
Or perhaps...

a ledge upon a cliff above the valley
Verdant green pasture,
Yes, and a small cave where,
After each day we may retire
Yes, A simple abode,
No palaces, save those in memory,
Made from basalt more pure
Than any real,
Yes, I,
As it does,
Do believe,
Yes,
It shall be so-
Unless...
-The ledge upon the cliff is itself
The Dream
And we have merely to slumber
to see it.