Within a dark stone is all human memory. The water pours upon it and moves it in deeper than the daylight quest for cleaning. Once I touch it I lose my senses and I feel like a black sun with midnight stars in the morning. White lights surround me in the great valley with bright flashes of love like thunder. So many are the loves from long ago, like tragic songs in the holy trees of death. I see one tale coming from another like silent beauty in the moving image. All of this together has a single meaning without words. I cannot tell what that meaning is, for I am too weak to know and hence I fall slowly down like watery eyes before the moon; for another world is now the moon and the thinking man is now a red painted flower as he thinks alone in silence.