To spy the fishes nibbling in the sand,
To listen on the whisper of the wind
For words she might have spoken in a dream,
Or sung in liquid tones while she would strum
The strings of her tuned instrument, a stream
Of feeling, both intensely personal
And somehow, thereby, strangely universal.
I know, from a fragment, she walked along this beach.
The languid waves pulse on without a rest.
The horizon hovers, always out of reach.
A boundless longing lived within her breast.
We have new gods from those that went before,
But what has changed within our deep heart's core?
