The hidden orchestration of the world
Not the sun and the stars
But there’s a quarrel
Between words and lexicons
Where our lives are flown
Way out on the shore-road
Where our feelings sleep in a hut
Constructed of sea stones
But there are birds everywhere you go
Words flying around
Carried upward to die unseen
Clutching in their beaks
All the unsayable things
Words can only dream
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