I stretch out my hands
The air is spongy
Tall like syllables

In a low voice
I sustain myself

Leaning over in this space
The real present

Conquered by the hours
I wave the greener

The beginning starts here
It spins me me

Ageless dizzied joy
I have been here before

In the gardens
Where the scarlet stains my stones

Path identified with repetition
Memory stairways ever so intricately

My love . .