Serpents reaching for the stars,
Shining asphalt and mist of linen,
Hide sprawling shadows, as one, as self,
Yet another.
The two make one, and I the third,
The spectator, the observer of nature,
Oh, how nature cares for its children,
We care not of that which we have no power,
That which can destroy the hour,
No sense of time, yet living,
And our emphasis on time, yet standing still,
I have not an age,
I am merely a fragment of infinite knowledge,
Expanding in an infinite moment,
I am motion in a never ending moment.
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