The poem
Encircled by her arms as by a shell, she hears her being murmur, while forever he endures the outrage of his too pure image...
Wistfully following their example, nature re-enters herself; contemplating its own sap, the flower becomes too soft, and the boulder hardens...
It's the return of all desire that enters toward all life embracing itself from afar... Where does it fall? Under the dwindling surface, does it hope to renew a center?