The narration I am looking for is in the form of a poem.

I have split the text into

separate lines. I think the best thing to do would be to read each line separate from
each other, one after the other. Like I said before, the narration itself is sort of strange
and abstract, like a Chris Marker Film. But it will make sense once pair them with
other images and audio.
Just an example of a clip from a Chris Marker film so you know what Im talking
about. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JamGQOhCe_k

)
Just to give a little context, when my mom was really young in her teens, her little
brother tragically died from cancer. Shes a poet, and this text is based off of a lot of
her experiences and writings from when she was young.
Here is the full text.
This Was Once An Ocean (title)
I. Spring
You were born in the spring.
Mom says you came from the sky.
They were called the Lyrids.
Tales of light, like runaway debris, swept across the night sky.
And like a forgotten star
you fell to the earth.
At least thats what Mom says.
I dont know if I believe it.
I dont know if I want to.
Josh picked you up from the ground.
He thought he was holding god with you there in his arms.
The first time you saw an ocean
the sand burned your skin.
Here is your bed.
Dips and Hollows in the sheets
where your body once moved
But no longer does.
II. Summer

In the summer we rode to the grove and back again

and chased the street lights home.
Those eternal beacons above us.
And at night we sat on the dunes
and watched light cut through fog from the lighthouses,
like lone semaphores lost in a storm.
Then we laid underneath the hickories.
And watched the sky light up between the branches.
Those were the the trees that danced gently in moving zephyrs,
like children bursting with life.
This was once an ocean
It stretched for miles and miles
There was a forest here.
There were trees scaling this hill.
I think that back then
there were more stars in the sky then there are today.
Now its only parking lots.
III. Autumn
In this world there are no words that speak
Or faces that pass us.
In this dried scabland.
This kingdom of dying stars
The clocks do not tick
There is nothing else here
There is nothing else here.
I know only you in this place.
The stained glass windows are moving portraits in this memory of ours,
the church bells tolling above us.
We have been here a long time,
grown old together.
Our hair is long,
falling to the floor.
We watched as the world withered.
And the trees fell one by one.
Lived a thousand lifetimes in this dream of ours.

And at night when the storms come,

we sleep on the pew,
huddled together in the nave of this broken ship.
A hymn of eternal memory shakes me to my core.
In the evening, we walk through the peristyle out into the courtyard.
In the courtyard, you fall sideways onto the grass.
You lie there looking up into the sky.
The translucent hue of your alabaster skin glows under a dying sun.
You say that you do not belong in this world
I dont believe you
I cross myself
I pray over your body.

IV. Winter
In the winter, when you got sick
we took you to the hospital.
Somewhere in a dead forest an acrolith is extruding from the earth.
It is a face I know all too well.
Son of God: are you here in this forest with me?
There is a fountain near the acrolith.
The water from this fountain will slake your thirst.
Take the water from this fountain.
But when I return to the hospital, you are no longer there.
Someone must have taken you while I was away.
You died on a tuesday with the radio on.
We buried you out back under the hickories
And at night, they rocked and swayed in bitter gales,
like grieving mothers
over lifeless children
It was the first time I knew I wouldnt live forever.