This afternoon a flock of dovessettled on my porch. Their silence took the shapeof all I ever wanted to say. Today, the miraclewe want aches inside the trees. Why believeanything except what is unbelievable?[…] Now the leavesturn into messages that are simply impossible to read.The roots turn into roads as they break throughthe surface. How can I even know what I mean?Beneath the hem of night the rain falls asleepon the grass. We have to turn into each other.One heart inside the other’s heart. One love. One word.Inside us, our shadows will walk into water,the water will walk into the sky. Blind. Faithful.Inside us the music turns into a flock of birds.Theirs is a song whose promise we must believethe way the moon believes the earth, the fire believesthe wood, that is, for no reason, for no reason at all. ― Richard Jackson, Out of Place

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This afternoon a flock of dovessettled on my porch. Their silence took the shapeof all I ever wanted to say. Today, the miraclewe want aches inside the trees. Why believeanything except what is unbelievable?[…] Now the leavesturn into messages that are simply impossible to read.The roots turn into roads as they break throughthe surface. How can I even know what I mean?Beneath the hem of night the rain falls asleepon the grass. We have to turn into each other.One heart inside the other’s heart. One love. One word.Inside us, our shadows will walk into water,the water will walk into the sky. Blind. Faithful.Inside us the music turns into a flock of birds.Theirs is a song whose promise we must believethe way the moon believes the earth, the fire believesthe wood, that is, for no reason, for no reason at all.
― Richard Jackson,
Out of Place
This afternoon a flock of dovessettled on my porch. Their silence took the shapeof all I ever wanted to say. Today, the miraclewe want aches inside the trees. Why believeanything except what is unbelievable?[…] Now the leavesturn into messages that are simply impossible to read.The roots turn into roads as they break throughthe surface. How can I even know what I mean?Beneath the hem of night the rain falls asleepon the grass. We have to turn into each other.One heart inside the other’s heart. One love. One word.Inside us, our shadows will walk into water,the water will walk into the sky. Blind. Faithful.Inside us the music turns into a flock of birds.Theirs is a song whose promise we must believethe way the moon believes the earth, the fire believesthe wood, that is, for no reason, for no reason at all. ― Richard Jackson, Out of Place

This afternoon a flock of dovessettled on my porch. Their silence took the shapeof all I ever wanted to say. Today, the miraclewe want aches inside the trees. Why believeanything except what is unbelievable?[…] Now the leavesturn into messages that are simply impossible to read.The roots turn into roads as they break throughthe surface. How can I even know what I mean?Beneath the hem of night the rain falls asleepon the grass. We have to turn into each other.One heart inside the other’s heart. One love. One word.Inside us, our shadows will walk into water,the water will walk into the sky. Blind. Faithful.Inside us the music turns into a flock of birds.Theirs is a song whose promise we must believethe way the moon believes the earth, the fire believesthe wood, that is, for no reason, for no reason at all.
― Richard Jackson,

Out of Place

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