It's okay to rip flowers out
and to set fire to vines,
to pluck petals off without
counting to
...
[+]
The birds sing
As I sit in stagnant heat
Hands on still oars,
And the lake mirrors the sky
So perfectly
That I stand up and dive down
Toward the heavens,
And among the clouds,
Before the water breaks my wings,
I understand their song.