I hear the girl again,

Strumming the air.

She knew the waters so well,

Of those bitter and of those sweet.

Intoxicated with them,

She strums the air

Night and day.



She retells my story,

But I never confessed to her.

She just knew.

She breathes on it

Of chosen words,

Of finest melody.



I don’t hate her,

I found on her an ally,

The girl who moves the stars.



Has she seen the rains?

Has she read my soul?

If you hear her voice,

She speaks of me,

Strumming the air again,

The girl who moves the stars.