The golden sun has become the mist
Lying in the nest of the valley --
Such possibility exists for those
Inside the mission arches splashed with light.
They're free of definition here,
When the slate is shaken clean
And there's nothing to fear from a costume room
That stretches this infinity of coast.
Heavenly scenes in clearest light
Unfold to be transformed
In this miraculous void
By more instant manifestation.
A warm wind blows, even as cool lights glow.
There is always time enough to talk
And for the pleasures of the harvest.
The palm trees wave as if there's nothing to say
When everything glistens beneath the moon
And innocence is always assumed,
For hands are made to hold out alms
As voices are for listening.
