you walk in beauty by yourself,
no loveless lady could ever fit your steps
which steadily divert the noise of day,
and mute it into ghost music
distant shouts without direction
wordless, eyeless, no mouth to speak with
you dance on,
you dance on like every tabletop’s your stage.
You walk in beauty by yourself—
you carry your own holy hush
and I have sought to capture it,
only to hear the symphonies in every rest
and track them past the door of death
until there’s no sad music left,
until there’s no sad music left.
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