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High Silences

What do the doves mean
in the high silences,
their pale wings lost
in the daytime sky?

And what are these eagles
over the deep ranges,
coasting the twilit forest
in hunter's colours?

Let us make a place of always,
where the answers come
without questions, and
the spring water rises

over the dry stones
without rain. Let us hear
music in the day's voices,
our birds safe home

and beautiful.