Music: Breathing of statues. Perhaps: Stillness of pictures. You speech, where speeches end. You time, vertically poised on the courses of vanishing hearts. Feelings for what? Oh, you transformation of feelings into . . . audible landscape! You stranger: Music. Space that's outgrown us, heart-space. Innermost ours, that passing our limits outsurges as practised horizon, as other side of air, pure, gigantic, no longer lived in.