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Poem	Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things? His giant heartbeat is diverted in us into little pulses. And his giant grief is, like his giant jubilation, far too great for us. And so we tear ourselves away from him time after time, remaining only mouths. But unexepectedly and secretly the giant heartbeat enters our being, so that we scream ----, and are transformed in being and in countenance.
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