The dove

Cuts the air trough her light dance,

skims the hair of your shining glance,

feeds the plain, overwhelming starvation

of a silent mind and its own temptation.

Lead me to the uncoscious sense, nailed

down in vast dire stands, where

the forcing streams leave the globe

to lift us up in a brand new home.

Mindful breast is your vision high,

a white maid pent in a sparrow light;

save me now and forever more

for a one way out from this timeless stow.

The dove.