Abandoned on a desk, away from my ears, at midnight
Sound like birds chirping on the street, in the sun.
Birds talk, I'm sure; they do not just chirp
But their speaking voices are simply inaudible to us humans.
Humans chirp, too, if one adopts a bird's ears.
Our voices are also inaudible outside of our limited,
Very limited circle, except as incomprehensible songs,
Repetitions, melodies, cries.
One can only hope that humans chirping are at least
Half as pleasant as the singing birds whose unmoving eyes
Glitter and turn into the wet stones that have sunk and come to rest
On a cold river bottom.
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