| My spirit rises, | |
| off the plate, | |
| in front of me. | |
| And it drifts over, | |
| to the space, | |
| where she waits. | |
| She speaks a language, | |
| distilled by time, | |
| to nothing more than. | |
| Elbow and wink, | |
| let in the light. | |
| But obstruct my view. | |
| Obstruct my view. | |
| Let in the light. | |
| But obstruct my view. |
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