He lives within his aging.

The moon becomes their falling

Spreading silver below her lying,

As though she were one being

Alive to him like no other.

She climbs the night exalted

Becoming the movement inside it.

The heat of her life is unwinding

Like flesh on a stick of pure burning.

And all that she does is for being,

On fire of green beginning.

Song is the outside of movement.

She sings in this dawning of time

As the moon burns silver to day.

The whispers of love fall below them

As though there were nothing to hear.

The secret of being is held