Wind speaks in the brush of breath,
teases leaves like years swung

in the palm of a monkey

Dogs chase their tails,
when tiring of their own

no longer know what to do
with the carmine flies, dancing
around the delicacy of a dead body

bark at nothing to senseless
ears, but are there not worlds
drummed in what we cannot hear?

Insects tap heartbeats on the earth,
our skin, water navigates rivered
dolphins when echoes sing

blind men deaf
of talk, when feeling
the music writing the wind

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