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Poem	Do we reach the sea with clocks In our pockets, with the noise of the sea In the sea, or are we the carriers Of a purer and more silent water? The water rubbing against our hands sharpens knives. The warriors have found their weapons in the waves And the sound of their blows is like The rocks that smash the boats at night. It is the storm and the thunder. Why not the silence Of the flood, for we have dreamt within us Space for the greatest silence and we breathe Like the wind over terrible seas, like the wind That creeps slowly over every horizon.
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