A golden haze reaches the world,

And I am certain of the young wind's

Widening grace: a grace that trembles

Upon sands, upon tables of granite,

Upon wells of marble paeans to archetypal

Ideals.

Savaging my imagination is an act of love

Of the word - passing entropy to pure chaos

In the form of a star-feathered alchemy-

I cannot conceive eternity:

But within the flowering of the brush,

Extension of my heart, chromatic avatar

Of my passion, I find a belief of

Organic simplicity - that a confluence

Of evolution, the essence of green, infinite voices,

Contains every passing desire for immortality.