Huraian
DescriptionBound by the need for breathWe lie on beds of foaming rubber.But the room is filled withThe rhythm of blood and need and the story.We lie quietly, listening.The whales are singing each to each.It is my last article of belief:They understand their music.You and I only have words.Outside the windowThe sea, the sea.Searching for safe havens; wanting to cut loose. Trying to make peace withdeath, love and madness. Learning that we can wound and be wounded.