O how she sings just to me,

O how she sings just to me,
with the breadth of a thousand poets!

On her shores I lay to rest, she washes away
my sins—lord, turn them into gifts!

We’re only ever saved, I tell them,
from the hells we’ve come to miss,

Then, a heaven is always as higher,
or deeper, as what we’re willing to witness—

My love! How I hear and hear and hear you!
Come! Take my eyes— Go! Ask for my forgiveness!

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