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The House
04:37
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The sound of silent singing
In the dark blue of the house (at night)
Was in each of their ears
A whisper starting at twilight
That glided through their dreams
One strand threaded through them all
A woman with cat’s eyes
Small ankles, pale skin
Her voice started like a violin
On an unlit corner in a village
But it echoed through the world
Across train tracks and unpaved roads
Into the night lights of the Brooklyn Bridge
The half moon in peasant’s windows
It washed through their minds
Like shots of vodka in wine glasses
Orange peels in coffee filters
It should never have existed for them
It was barely their life,
But they were used to the strangeness of life,
Of being alive.
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Sarah Hersh, Composer Atlanta, Georgia
Sarah Hersh is a composer currently living in Atlanta, Georgia. Learn more here: www.sarahhersh.com.
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