To drift with the unseen
Is the hidden meaning of life
Bursts of movement erupting
And splotches of color smeared
The aftermath of swaying branches
Frozen within themselves
Along the ground
Was shattered ice
Like shards of glass
Reflecting in your light
An interpretive dance
That for seven years bode its freedom
’Til one late some night
The spheres they hummed to move again
A deep stirring in the shortness of day
Dragging your consciousness
To biding time
For the one long night
When sheer in the dark
Streaks of being itself
Expressed a primal drift
That knew neither rhythm nor song
Only silence and wind and peace
The very lightness of nothing in your soul