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