You thought you were right. You believed it was so,
so you thought to cut the night in two
relieved to state that you know
how it should be, if it could be
that which we ought to see.

You thought you were wrong. You believed it was so,
as you, caught naked in the light,
were retrieved from frozen places
like a river ashamed of its flow
or a bird in full song suddenly quiet,
as if you thought you were wrong.

When will you stop believing, my lovely,
and feather this form across the night?
Can you disperse in living freedom,
blissful and transitory,
as a kiss in the bliss of emptiness?

In freedom forever held
by a boundless dominion of beauty?