“… ‘Speak carefully,’ a child hushes his mother,
Small fingers pressed to feathered lips,
‘And it will leave.’
The mother and my grandfather
Shook their heads, and with all their might
Pulled the children from the water,
And we sang from the depths of our souls …”

“… Those kind of tears will overflow our ocean,
Turn its colour, rough it up.
Slow down Brother,
Gulpin like a fish on sand,
Chest liftin, swellin like a storm. …”