| How, on a summer night
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| The mysterious few bird notes rise
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| And break against the dark and stop
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| And that music continues, afterward, for a long time
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| How you move in me until silence itself is moving
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| Precisely as those few notes
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| How they do not stop, the music like water
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| Finding its way
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| How what we begin we only think is ours
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| How quickly it passes form reach
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| Some other life throating the air
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| Until it is utterly lovely and changed
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| How what we begin we only think is ours
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| How quickly it passes form reach
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| Some other life throating the air
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| Until it is utterly lovely and changed
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| How I am changed by you and change you
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| How we willingly hollow our throats for the song
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| How the music chains us, but the song
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| On a summer night, how it breaks and stops
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| How we falter and still the notes rise beyond us
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| How they complete themselves in the silence
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| And silence completes us, simple as those few notes
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| That answer the dark on a summer night and fall still |