Jeff Zarling - When The Circle Bends

There is a room beneath the sound
No ceiling there, no solid ground
Each step rise before the floor
Each turn reveals another door
The air is moving through the stone
A shape is forming on its own
We do not push, we do not pull
We follow where the space unfolds
Do not count the way we learn
Let the angle shift and turn
Every line we thought was straight
Changes when the pulses meet
When the circle bends
We move without a line
Where the measure ends