And they will speak of it
In the limited ways we can listen:
The light is bright, the water wet,
Life comes from pairs like that ...
Yet what is said reverberates
In the air declared to be barren
Like lashes from a distant whip
That disturbs more for not landing ...
The wind that could be anything
Taunts us with a fury all our own;
What we don't understand we almost know,
Enough at least to think that there is hope.
