Listen through the storm drain
Can you hear the naiads singing?
Do you see them skulking in the
Shadowed hollows of the walls?
Feral golden eyes, pale limbs
And fronds woven in their hair
They sing of the drowned Lily,
Who dove deep, but once only.
They sing praise to the watery echoes
Of Moonlight on her veil.
The rain, they say, is water, seeping
From the tangled rivers of some other reality
And the birds are only fish in the sky
They say the ocean’s shifting
Calling them away from mortal cities
Till the ocean stretches her arms
And embraces the land.
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