I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
The purest form is always the one
And beyond, the same sound of bees
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
Now that you notice ithave just moved past
As it sits there like an eventual
Glimmering of light:
Gray the cloud-like oaks
The flakes which have stolen onto the flagstones
I seek, above all, in the wandering
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Pierced by the mist that fades away,
Glimmering of light:
The face of a Quos ego),
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
At the white place of the road's vanishing
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
The purest form is always the one
And beyond, the same sound of bees
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
Now that you notice ithave just moved past
As it sits there like an eventual
Glimmering of light:
Gray the cloud-like oaks
The flakes which have stolen onto the flagstones
I seek, above all, in the wandering
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Pierced by the mist that fades away,
Glimmering of light:
The face of a Quos ego),
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
At the white place of the road's vanishing