-Paul Celan
In the threadbare
air, through the tattered
weave of leaves,
the blue light cools
into ash black shadow
Tree: the high
thought roots itself
in the luminous clay
of the caught light's closeness
to audibility
So we know that again
today, there are songs
still to be sung. they
exist. Just on the other
side of mankind.
from Pieces of Map, Pieces of Music
by Robert Bringhurst
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