
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






























