As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
And you are like the word Melancholy.
I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.
And let me talk to you with your silence