I flew to aeon
when a fleeting butterfly...

Blackamoor singing
and his teeth brighten the room...

Little lamb munching
on the sunset lawn before...

If you want to be her lover
you must worshiper the truth...

Rather than guarding
his own life, unleashes the...

Here, is everywhere.
But out there, here is out there...

Running into it,
as running away from it...

Whiteness in my heart
I avalanche from winter...

Am I a gem wrapped in cotton balls,
or a worm, inside the flesh of an apple...

Worshipping in everywhere in a rose leaf
or in a celebration of the day in a drop of water...

Is it in the accuracy of sensibility
that patterns come to the sense...

The true love is when
one love something for itself...