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.