Blood circulates slowly through unhurried and thoughtful veins He sat in his body and wondered how the sweetest of his strains Could ever lay a bow to the violin before him Ended is the passing at the silent, secret gate Where the temple universal stole away in sublimation The garden was like brilliance unto the blindman without measure
Entranced by the advent of oblivion He lay back in his boat, his arms poised to Embrace the entirety in one embrace and throw open its doors
And he died at the gate that will not open That will not open for the flesh that is weak
Unknown and nameless, the lyric of the ghost Haunts the garden and the gate and is happy The ideal outlasts the flesh that is weak Yes, and the well outlasts the drought that is momentary
Trees in the garden that tower and sway Raise up their boughs to whisper and pray A sweet gale swept in, the breath of the poet And loosed another seed to fall in the hamlet The eye of Leviathan that fell from the sky To enchant the lonely, to love and to die