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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