And what if we owe nothing to the world?
World that made our flesh and blood
out of river and fish. That shocked
our nubile lungs with first flood of sky.
That made from water and clay the shape
that became our lives. And why,
if we didn’t ask to be here,
does beauty attended never fail
to break the heart? Open us,
like birdsong from highest limb.
What made us think we could break away
from the truth that makes us whole,
to stand alone, apart, above? And what
has the world become for all our efforts?
As if we could live without song for our ears,
without sorrow for what will sing no more.
Without sky in our lungs, without fish in our blood.
.
Al Fournier
Picture Rupert Loydell
.