It is in your depths. In the history of your form. In the density of you. Echoes reminiscent of revolutions. My mother spoke of you as a myth. She emphasized to never write for you. To keep my words for mortal souls. But I have never been drawn by drowning like this. Its in your waters. In you. Wash the sins off my flesh and soul. I will give you this vessel as tribute. For your waters, your abode is transcendent. Ive spoken to your monsoons, to your tidal waves. Have seen how you dance with the Moon. The sway, the back and forth, the melody. And I ask to replace that in the sky. I have read your forms, I have studied your seasons. And I can love you from close. So much closer.


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