Sparrows in the hands of Saturn

I wish to live like the mountain; the stream, the forest,
I wish to break like the tears of our own private angels
Upon the moments when mystery cloaks.

I wish to roam, with the legends ingrained in the riverbed
Of my psyche, alive in the footprints of our myth.

I wish to sleep by the fire, at the doorway where all spirits gather,
Touching the feet of the universal guru.

I wish to be blessed in the language of birds,
Freed like the sparrow flying up, into the hands of Saturn,
Free like the ripples of the silent ocean beyond death.

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