The white materia of human will Spreads upon every toneless adjective Like the calligraphy of trees. In the twist and coil of their limbs, The heart of each syllable Unfurls. Come with me To the field where the wildflowers bloom, And let us shed the white dust Of convention and gravity— A crown of daisies, The sky’s embrace. To be one with the whisper of the grass, The sweetness of their sound is phosphorescent. The evening air throbs with the nectar of dreams, While shadows unfold like pages of a book. Join me in this untouched writing, Where we rediscover the wild, Where we return to our origins— to luminous, living, free.

• Mina Loy