The White Bird (Heumann)

there's somewhere that I have been meaning to revisit
in and among all, even as its true nature is hid
here, in the gloaming and black night
here, in the dawn and the golding bright

there is a design with the larger in the smaller
I found it in time and the lethargy of matter
sing, as would a white bird of mine
here, in this hall of a thousand rooms

I've seen it at night tessellating and unfolding
sheer gossamer threads, delicate and sacred shimmering
and if you reached for it, it would shatter
as things that you'd hold quickly fade away

there's something that's grown, spreading underneath through each inside
go see for your own, more and more the air is rarefied
now that the spires are crumbling down
and new holes appear where there once were none

if you should become separated from the restless herd
and you're hearing that hum, know that to this place you may return
wandering alone in a city of towers
one with the leaves and mycelia