I have a mother, a house with many windows, brothers, friends, and a prison cell
with a chilly1 window! I have a wave snatched by seagulls, a panorama2 of my own.
I have a saturated3 meadow. In the deep horizon of my word, I have a moon,
a bird's sustenance4, and an immortal5 olive tree.
I have lived on the land long before swords turned man into prey6.
I belong there. When heaven mourns for her mother, I return heaven to
her mother.
And I cry so that a returning cloud might carry my tears.
To break the rules, I have learned all the words needed for a trial by blood.
I have learned and dismantled7 all the words in order to draw from them a
single word: Home.