"This is the last straw," Alma said. She had just opened the mail at the kitchen table. Sitting opposite, Walter peered over the top of his newspaper. "What straw is that?" "It's anothe ... [+]
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.