I tell the mountain: you can only be this tall
the slender hand of forgiveness, forgives us all
and if the stream runs upwards,
the woods and meadows call
I sing to the slighted hillsides, I sing them tall
I watch the night guard wander: I tell him to be loud
the simple pleasure of a a mockingbird, unable to be proud
and if a single stem is broken,
the lark can barely sing
I whisper to the enchanted landscape, I let him scream
I let you touch me: you can only be this person
the fists that captures the waves, salt stained tongue
and if the violin strings tighten
the sounds is even clearer
I lay asleep at night, I create you
