***
The same voice everlastingly isn’t silent
the birds of the man, structures of the time
the appalling eternity are passing and I bathe
in the poem of the sea infused by the stars
and by the milk of the nebulae. I know
the wakes sculpted in clarity by whirlwinds,
by backwash and currents I know the dawns
excited by a people of birds and I glimpsed
something from what the man wanted to see,
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