My heart unlocks to those wet green eyes that cry.
Matted lashes mirrors the summer rain clinging to the pines.
Syd Barrett singing Golden Hair from no certain distinction ahead.
Grasping through the spruces.
Passing the rotation, fear has fallen apart.
To the Middle Way, hereafter;
Each spokes connected within the whirlwind of my lungs.
The oval window in my ear.
My belly of a thousand folded flowers.
The zenith tides in my eyes.
My voice plunging into midnight.