Who dares the I,
the songs of the heart
so clearly for the giving.
The painting is you,
the shifting colors,
the intensity, the intention.

Well into the weary dead,
a small men vision
dancing tomorrows forecast,
the undead, in the dark,
straws and sticks.

No traveler at rest
can refute the motion of I,
the direction of the land,
the call of the genes,
the impossible dream.