overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air  Climbing toward the Light
and deep beneath the rolling waves
in labyrinths of coral caves
the echo of a distant time
comes willowing across the sand
and everything is green and submarine

and no one showed us toward the land
and no one knows the wheres or whys
but something stirs and something tries
and starts to climb towards the light

strangers passing in the street
by chance two separate glances meet
and I am you and what I see is me
and do I take you by the hand
and lead you through the land
and help me understand the best I can

and no one calls us to move on
and no one forces down our eyes
and no one speaks and no one tries
and no one flies around the sun

cloudless everyday you fall upon my waking eyes
inviting and inciting me to rise
and through the window in the wall
come streaming in on sunlight wings
a million bright ambassadors of morning

and no one sings me lullabies
and no one makes me close my eyes
and so I throw the windows wide
and call to you across the sky

– Echoes, Pink Floyd


but witness for her land, and witness
for her sea, the cricket is her utmost of elegy to me

Emily Dickinson


Further in Summer
than the Birds
Pathetic from the
A minor Nation
Its unobtrusive

No Ordinance be
So gradual the
A pensive Custom
it becomes
Enlarging Loneliness.

Antiquest felt at
When August
burning low
Arise this spectral
Repose to typify

Remit as yet
no Grace
No Furrow on the
Yet a Druidic
Enhances Nature

Emily Dickinson