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Nausicaa 368
A warm instance
The odor of grass clings to you
Some forbidden perfume
Makes for millions of these breaths
Sweet jesus!
Know her by her low days
Her something women
By her potted priests
And the tiny grains of halfway beams
These dreams are not her dreams
But your calculations of light
They seem to overwhelm our mornings
And color all our supposed differences.
She comes back to herself
Spinning dancing shifting
Pouring honey on these altars
Dreaming in the morning wind
*Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan song from "Bandit Queen" Of course, apropos of nothing here- just heartrendingly, breathtakingly beautiful song.
