Music: breathing of statues. Perhaps
stillness of pictures. You languarge where languages
end. You time
that stands perpendicular on the course of transient hearts.
Feelings for whom? O you the mutation
of feelings to what?--: to audible landscape.
You stranger: music. You heart-space
grown out of us. Innermost of us
that, rising above us, seeks the way out--
holy departure:
when what is inward surrounds us
as the most mastered distance, as
the other side of air:
pure,
immense,
beyond habitation.
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