seen through the stripes enfolded hours o the bendings make luxury amass up to the last revealing shapes with every movement the air could call its own whether it seems to go on whether it falls together by the long lines of frequency bendings remove to elsewhere moving the matter onward sighing by tongs refracting night pressing the dash to loop along forever into the falling bands of grain open the slow evolving lattice and the soundings will pulse from every ace whether it seems to go on whether it falls together by the long lines of frequency bendings remove to elsewhere moving the matter onward sighing by tongs refracting night