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 seas Break through the chest Flying out the mouth Noisy tongues that once were silenced All the oceans we contain, 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