I hear birdsong in the pauses of your words
A quiver the notion of a wing O the exquisite
Chariot of your mind bounds wildly
over ocean
Waves you who unravel every proposition
Down to the thread how is it your thoughts
rival
The art of days the art of nights
you who are only
Beautiful witticisms to me the elegant
syntax of rain
Veins tainted with the blood of wounded
mirrors?
Never the sky but the idea of sky is
what woke me
Not the black feathers in my mouth
not twigs
In my bed not even your blue eyes your lips
Never the breath nor remembered
voice not
The song but the silence between sounds
is what
Woke me and the birds the
waves too
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