Blue afternoon detached from the world
Your every surface becomes a mirror of lakes
Wherein I see the cloud and ages float past
I as substantial as clouds in a dream.
The rolling land, the empty sky
Millions of years lain open
In whose bodies our lives briefly spiral
Full of particular dreams.
Dreams that spark from one heart to another
And descend ever but are still contained
Within this this sleeping body:
I live in the ruins of a world.
Passing life, sweet dream
She is with me now,
Our hearts have joined like flowers on an axis
And all everything is sweet.