flowers carved in stone
and the storm is frozen in the air
that which changes moves forward in time
never to be seen again
i am a dream of forgetting
i slip from the grasp of that which possesses me
the muse, and passion, all hardness
to grasp the void by letting go
but even the stone erodes
the storm must dissipate
gradually to come to my earthly senses
begin again to make differences
thus to exist: i am moved
tripping over all the toys i left for myself