Their words like clouds
disembodied, distant.
They sing like a gull,
unending, trilling.
Others sing like a lark,
beautiful, attached.
The gulls sing,
not knowing night, from day.
Captivity from freedom.
Others sing from the feelings.
Knowing night, from day.
Captivity, from freedom.
The words unattached,
scatter to the sky the moment they leave,
lips, beak.
The words attached,
rush to the ears,
that are willing to hear them.
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