Motion is a Wheel, Imagination is meant to evoke crystals and prisms (i.e. all the colors of the rainbow)
I would have though Imagination would be round, like the windmills of my mind, you know, round, like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, never ending or beginning, on an ever-spinning reel, like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon, like a carousel that's turning, running rings around the moon, like a clock whose hands are sweeping, past the minutes of its face, and the world is like an apple, whirling silently in space, like the circles that you find, in the windmills of your mind, like a tunnel that you follow, to a tunnel of its own, down a hollow to a cavern, where the sun has never shone, like a door that keeps revolving, in a half-forgotten dream, like the ripples from a pebble, someone tosses in a stream, like a clock whose hands are sweeping, past the minutes of its face, and the world is like an apple, whirling silently in space, like the circles that you find, in the windmills of your mind, keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head, why did summer go so quickly?, was it something that you said?, lovers walk along a shore, and leave their footprints in the sand, is the sound of distant drumming, just the fingers of your hand?, pictures hanging in a hallway, and the fragment of a song, half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?, when you knew that it was over, you were suddenly aware, that the autumn leaves were turning, to the color of his hair?, like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, never ending or beginning, on an ever-spinning reel, as the images unwind, like the circles that you find, in the windmills of your mind.