Night falls on the orchestra.
Psyche
A pervasive and original mystery still clings.
Relic Flux
Oh, rubbish!
The black sheep of the zodiac.
The nerve center of impulses.
Diffused in a cloud of probability in all places.
The insistence of the future is suspended in the lilt of its desire.
The dream remains.
Perilous Times
All of the Above
Borders of Understanding
The Clouds are Seeded with Our Dust
as the stars fade into morning (mourning)
half waking just before dawn
we find indifference along the hollow edges
The Clouds are Seeded with Our Dust
our hands dance through the dreams we conceive
to feel the echo of love
(without a sense of touch)
The Clouds are Seeded with Our Dust
settling into places that cannot be named
we see with the eye of the heart
Play It as It Lays
Be Mine