La Que Sabe Singing

 

 

 

You are soil, sediment,

The dark blood of metal,

The clock hands

Of magnetic points unspun:

 

The boiling earth gave you birth,

You whose light is beyond voice:

 

There is your song,

Then the silence of your song;

And in the silence,

The merging of all voices.

 

Pray then, sing your silence:

You who have sensed all songs

And claimed ownership of none.

 

Sing me down to earth

And I shall speak

Only your praises,

 

For it is better now

To be wingless

Than lost

To the absurdity of flight.

 

 

                                                                                               

 

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