I'm open wide - to the last nerve,
Open to the last hidden thought.
Not like a wound -
Like lips stretched to the sun,
'Twixt love and death stretched taut.

I'm open wide - to the last nerve,
At the bottom of a living stream.
Air flows through me like birch-trees' sap.
Midsummer's sun, the buzz of bees
Flow through me, hum and gleam.

Caught in a living stream am I.
I do not ask where will it flow.
I only cling to tree shadows,
With bird-songs draped from foot to brow.

The stream is full of vibrant light...
I do not ask where it will flow.
The stream is full of vibrant light...
Sky, grass, fast-flowing, past me go,
Midsummer's sunshine, birch-tree go...
Who am I in this timeless flow?

I'm open wide - to the last nerve,
Open to the last hidden thought...