Shadows creep upon the blank walls.
The sunlight is dressed in white. They throw shadows on
Torn flowers. Sight is here, and is not.
The words are clear, and are not. Here the river
Gurgles to itself, and falls fast asleep in its own chair.
The chair totters and spills over.
The stars are awake and hear the river. The river is
All right. The stars are the river. Distance comes
With sight. Take me outside of myself, and hear
The words chime with reverence.