"The Movement," I'll read you one of the movements.
How can I claim you love?
You fly word above word into strange woods,
query quicker than the hawk's eye, zooming
in loops of likelihood, bounding through lillied moments moss,
dove, maze, muted wind whispered want.
How can I question when you're off?
Why is it being itinerant?
Yet, when you light kiss me, confide,
foreverness is at my side.