| I couldn’t feel the earth move
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| in its slow dance with the cold moon,
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| as I picked my steps over the ridge,
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| quiet on my leather soles.
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| I couldn’t see the full sun this afternoon.
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| I couldn’t see the ferns as they bent and bowed.
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| I couldn’t see your eyes as clear as I ought to,
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| as I crouched along the bank with you.
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| There is a pull between our hearts, love.
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| There is an empty, open mind
|
| in the flock of swallows diving,
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| diving and turning, diving and turning.
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| With the black winged birds
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| circling
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| in the glass pane of the creek,
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| in the column of air
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| to the tall white sky,
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| and in everything in between,
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| and in everything in between.
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| But, hush, says your mouth on my warm neck.
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| Hush, says the stream, as it coils around.
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| Hush, my mind is much too loud.
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| Let my breath, like the tide, go out.
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| I feel the pull between our hearts, love.
|
| I feel the empty, open mind
|
| in the flock of swallows diving,
|
| diving and turning, diving and turning.
|
| With the black winged birds circling
|
| in the glass pane of the creek,
|
| in the column of air
|
| to the tall white sky,
|
| and in everything in between |