This shape without space, This pattern without stuff, This stream without dimension Surrounds us, flows through us, But leaves no mark. This message without meaning, These tears without eyes This laughter without lips Speaks to us but does not Disclose its clue. These waves without sea Surge over us, smooth us. These hands without fingers Close-hold us, caress us. These wings without birds Strong-lift us, would carry us If only the one thread broke. A.S.J. Tessimond