embellish th'winds

with filaments--unkind
that jail so fine

th'motives striking
(like breezes from behind:
like cobras) at their
ease: What stands?
What are its tides?

O, life in Th'Void with querying eyes

and what moves: and what
never-moving instrument
like Iceberg inches
to th'heart of Silence
its chilling Song

is Song

sinking lucidly into the absorbing
strands it catches but never quite
matches or understands, unlaced
& swinging from broken
to Strong

Right & Wrong!