I am trying, trying to say to you, I am trying to say, it is lovely, so irrefutably lovely and open, I am trying to say that there is no end, no silence, that silence – impossible! - ever outward as cobalt into cerulean into dawn, her florid headdress, rises as all things continue, understand me, all things, the oscillation the fluttering whisper, the cantus firmus, lingering, low grasses and cobbled grouting, so irrefutably lovely, I will remind you with this dissonance in the low octave, in the left hand, uncertain but so irrefutably lovely the oscillation, moves through you to graze the skin of others, maybe, maybe, they are sleeping while you wake, but breath just moves upwards and out, and that is why the sky is colored the way it is, with breath,  like a moth, barely audible in flight, I have nestled you between two dark folds to better hear the ricochet, nestled you between the blind arcade the braided columns and the singing, because the architect built this cathedral to shift with voice, to turn, jeweled, the space of the head the breast and belly, I have written you a vessel that shivers. I have written you a moth in flight, see.