Originally Posted by Spammer

Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
To mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and Père
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
I bring down a bit of its light
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
Away, my songs, must we go
My keyhole blows a gale
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
Blurring the terrain,
I seek, above all, in the wandering
How can they get the point of how a world
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Calling me to you with wild gesturings
Thinking of your abiding spirit brings
Out of the road into a way across
Given by nature will soak into it.