Fifty Bad Translations
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| En+Hy (Armenian)
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The birds are all blown away, like leaves, like everything, all blown away. Their nests empty, their chicks fledged, some eaten, some buried, some simply disappeared like the syllables of babies, like foam on ocean waves. You’d think there’d be a place where everything goes, like the floors of mossy forests or the bottoms of alpine lakes, but they are just gone, migrated off to nowhere.