Five birds flying in a rain-drenched sky

Five birds flying in a rain-drenched sky, five fingers on a hand wet with tears. In every motion is the seed of non-motion. We well up from a vast silence within our heart, and rise to the surface with our world. My heart aches with the flight of birds as the world aches in its hollowness, yet knows all is well. Flying birds, moving fingers, aching heart. The heart knows its way to the door of home. Let us listen, let us see, and let us be true.