The answers are embedded all around,
Carried by us too beneath our skin,
adopted by the plasma of our cells…
… all bubbling up and waiting.
The ancient voices call out to us, awaiting an echo…
yet we fall silent: a chamber without resonance,
a call we fail to repeat…
and I’m desperate to sing now,
dying to make a sound…just a sound…
will anything be heard?
Of course, of course…
nothing is left unsung.
No melody at night is alone…
