The whales do not sing because they have an answer, they sing because they have a song
What matters, is not what is written on the page
What matters, is what is written in the heart
So burn the letters, and lay their ashes on the snow
At the river’s edge when spring comes and the snow melts, and the rivers rises
Return to the banks of the river, and reread my letters with your eyes closed
Let the words and the images wash over your body like waves
Reread the letters, with your hand cupped over your ear
Listen to the songs of Eden
Page, after page , after page
Fly the bird path
Fly, fly, fly….
