To enclose us within our dreams,
Ghosts may sleep on,
By the long reaching arm of fragrance,
But there is one gateway remains,
An open well shaft
Falling straight to the soul.
The voice, the ear.
The pegasus of sound,
Softly feathered and floating,
To those depths of incandescent brilliance.
And riding bareback,
A host of invisible messengers,
Silently informing secrets.
The gentle currents of their language
Adding a subtle,
Yet vibrant symphony.
I hear not a sweet melody alone,
By a choir of angels.