He hears his name in robin’s songs,
The cadence calls him from the scrub.
He answers in his shaky voice:
They understand but don’t respond.
She sees the heron spell her name
In semaphore with arching wings.
She signals back, she jumps and flaps,
They catch her drift, but on they pass.
I see the clouds, I hear the trees,
I feel the rumbling through my feet.
The world is here, and I am here,
With robins, herons, clouds and breeze.
They speak to us, they know our names,
And nothing here will ever change.