Look the herons in the greenbilled water Their wet-ash wings wear medalions of patience We drift on... We have stories as old as the great seas Break through the chest Flying out the mouth Noisy toungues that once were silenced All the oceans we contian, coming to light
All the dark birds rush from the river Leaving only the stillness of their language There are no clocks to measure time But the beating of our single hearts You will know it is winter By the way your dreams tremble like stones When the wind comes through The wind, full of hearts that beat quick and strong
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