12
When I die, I’ll miss the wind
When I die, I’ll miss the wind
The grass thrown by thistles
And, when I thought I was nothing
The way you let me in
The egg will break, and the two-faced being
Will be reborn free and clean
Loving and compassionate,
Kind and sweet
And the sun will no longer blind or burn skin
The moon will no longer confuse and will teach the way in the nights
The ship will sail calmly between the two seas
The will of the wind will no longer cause fear
The water, it will remember its mother
The shaking hands will no longer count in faults
They will be held tightly to remove all doubt
The warmth I feel is familiar
Should my eyes be open?