…

I will sit here until dawn tripping the spine

of the stars, a Pythagorean traveler marveling

another numerical scheme, adding to his shoulder

a music not heard but attained.

Beauty alone is not immortal.

It is the response, a language of ciphers,

notes, and strokes riding off on a cloud charger

the bruised humps of magnificent whales.

clouds of my childhood, clouds of God.

Awash in rose, violet and gold.

from A Pythagorean Traveller, Patti Smith.