Music: Breathing of statues.
Perhaps: Stillness of pictures.
You speech, where speeches end.
You time,
vertically poised on the courses of vanishing hearts.
Feelings for what? Oh, you transformation
of feelings into . . . audible landscape!
You stranger: Music. Space that's outgrown us,
heart-space. Innermost ours, that pa**ing our limits
outsurges
as practised horizon, as other
side of air,
pure,
gigantic,
no longer lived in.