Seen through the stripes enfolded hours

O the bendings make luxury amass

Up to the last revealing shapes with

Every movement the air could call its own

Whether it seems to go on, whether it falls together

By the long lines of frequency

Bendings remove to elsewhere, moving the

Matter onward

Sighing by tongs refracting night

Pressing the dash to loop along forever

Into the falling bands of grain

Open the slow evolving lattice

And the soundings will pulse from every ace

Whether it seems to go on, whether it falls together

By the long lines of frequency

Bendings remove to elsewhere, moving the

Matter onward

Sighing by tongs refracting night