by Karin Boye Many Voices Speak. Yours is like water. Yours is like rain, when it falls through the night. Murmuring deeply, sinking tentatively, slow, hesitant, painfully alive. Rippling like shallows behind all sounds, trickling and dripping against my skin, shrouding softly, closing me in, filling my ears with whispering memories. I want to sit quietly where I cannot disturb you. I want to live and dwell where I can hear you. Many voices speak. Through them all I hear only yours falling as a night rain.
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