On the slanting tip of
This thin slice of beauty
The eagle’s EYE (ego?) is blinded

Imagination
Spiraling
Through wild wind filled
With loosely hanging green

Never landing on the
Field bi-cycling
Paths curling
Roots hatching
Wheeling-willing
Catching Saas-Fee free air

ears speak into
My mouth, she
Listens to the taste of
My heart smelling to the
Touch of my seeing
In the Darkness of the House
Ah,