My climb upwards -
was what was not heard -
Yet this tight whip -
What makes me wind!
The eye admires the snow -
peers at the moth - Enjoy
leaf -
But the real storm is the secret!
The music lives -
if there are those who dance!
The days are art museums - What
nascondon true art!
All bites - drag -
and lives of all things - The noble
infinity -
Instinct can recognize!
* * * * *
