Ringing to the hills,

I too am the hills
Singing to the sky.

I too am the sky!
The beloved is returning,
Let the bells ring!

VI. DUSK

There is no soul too poor to build a temple
Where it may go apart
And worship darkness.

For out of darkness
Images shine... and fade...

Since now there is no worship nor any music,
Let incense be a curved smile
On lips that remember,
And candles, notes of laughter
In empty dusk.

Above,
A coloured window slowly turns
Black to the night.

VII. RUINS