• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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Out here is where I wait
to see how they agitate the landscape.
How they flutter through a tree's green mane,
and then poke the ground to feed their young.
I see paws that leave marks without scarring.
I am smaller than what surrounds me.
The tree with its roots far into the ground;
the stillness in its stance.
The silence in all timeless things.
Ferns that have been around for millions of years,
long before the advent of calendars, or shame.
The first human who found its way out of the desert
is in me;
so is the sea and its salt.
The distance is my sword and with words
I wage wars on what's been left unsaid.
And everything that already is,
everything that I long for,
everything that I have ever had
and that has been stolen,
I carry it all in me –
just like the sea carries its salt and gold;
just like a tree shelters the hunger of birds in its fold.
See how it bears fruits that it'll never eat?
There's nothing we can keep.
No need to dream of buying everything you see.
All we have is what we give.