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I have landed as if on the wing of a small plane.
It is a song I have landed on that barely feels my weight.
Sky is thick with wishes. Regrets fall down like rain.
Visit me. I am always in even when the place
looks empty, even though the locks are changed.
And in the sea's blackness sank wreckage of the day its faces, voices, stops and starts while to the surface rose lights, lapping of waves squawks of invisible birds we heard as apertures in a low dark sky – the glittering crust that to an eye seeing for the first time evidence of man's night on earth might be as intricate, luminous as space to ours and wondrous in its buoyancy, littoral between depths and heights, electric on its charts of glass as peace might be putting out without sound or sail.
Mr Khalvati? Larger than life he was; too large to die so they wired him up on a bed. Small as a soul he is on the mountain ledge.
Lids gone thin as a babe's. If it's mist he sees it's no mist he knows by name. Can you hear me, Mr Khalvati? Larger than life he was
and the death he dies large as the hands that once drowned mine and the salt of his laugh in the wave. Small as a soul he is on the mountain ledge.
Can you squeeze my hand? (Ach! Where are the hands I held in mine to pull me back to the baize?) Mr Khalvati? Larger than life he was
with these outstretched hands that squeezing squeeze thin air. Wired he is, tired he is and there, small as a soul he is on the mountain ledge.
No nudging him out of the nest. No one to help him fall or fly, there's no coming back to the baize. Mr Khalvati? Larger than life he was. Small as a soul he is on the mountain ledge.
Between the living and the dead, May your memory be green. In the book beside my bed, May your signature be seen.
May your memory be green For every lover, every spring. May your signature be seen Inscribed on every living thing.
For every lover, every spring, Breathing clouds against the frost Inscribed on every living thing, Sees how every breath is lost;
Breathing clouds against the frost, Because breath is always warm, Sees how every breath is lost In the one beloved form.
Because breath is always warm, Hafez, yours ignites the dark. In the one beloved form, It is still a living spark.
Hafez, yours ignites the dark In the book beside my bed. It is still a living spark Between the living and the dead.
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