Classic Poem

This shall be forever flying,
never alighting,
Forever rising, never curving
or lying
Out on the wind.
Into space rising, and crying.

O words,
Be as this smooth, hard, polished marble,
extending
Into the space of the mind;
not ending
Here with the voice.
As the edge of stone, bending
The arc of light in an unplotted curve,
Where no wings swerve,
Beyond the space of birds,
Rise, O words!