From my decimated world,
when the wind rustles vaguely turns face to the leaves in announcement of black and white swallows,
I turn to steps and thoughts
and a raw voice tears me away:
We have to go, we have to leave.
In my footsteps
my name beats my mother’s heart:
Return, son, return.
And it overflows in the brain the clock of enchanted hours:
Further, further that port
Where I still don’t know.

(1943)

Read by Ethan

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