Winter lifted my spirits til I was a treetop angel
With candlelit canopies tucked discretely in at my feet.
See now how non-descript I am; I am only happy –
As was then and was again when I fell
Into that emptiness, carefree nothingness below. Blown off billows from eastern
I knew then I was sure of my non-identity
For I left on oak no marks, nor crevices, nor stains on satin-writing sheets,
But passed through these trees in aimless glee, and left all in my wake exact
– just as was before.