A dream to WINter

Through the windows -- through doors -- burst like a ruthless force,

Mind not the old wind beseeching the young mind, We shall over comfortable

Ransack round you the rustling luxuries tread,

ploughing to "Find it!", bending your head

Into the mystical moist star-spangled night-air,

as time down the stairs a nest of exploding kisses lies in wait

All spheres, grown, ungrown, suns, moons, planets rotate

- Walt Whitman+Arthur Rimbaud+Brian Kenny