Home

I belong there.

I have a mother, a house with many windows, and a prison cell.

A wave snatched by seagulls, a panorama of my own.

I have a meadow. In the deep horizon of my word, I have a moon,

I lived on the land long before swords turned man into prey.

I belong there. When heaven mourns for her mother, I return heaven to her.

And I cry so that a returning cloud might carry my tears.

To break the rules, I have learned all the words for a trial by blood,

to draw from them a

single word.