Primal Breath

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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