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Primal Breath

Look the herons in the green billed water

Their wet ash wings wear medallions of patience

We drift on, we have stories as old as the great seasBreak through the chest, flying out the mouth

Noisy tongues that once were silenced

All the oceans we contain, coming to lightAll 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 heartsYou 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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