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There Cannot Be a SeaIf I could make a treeweep green drops of thin leaves, falling quietly, falling gently, letting the earth understand the tips of its feelings-- If I could make a cloud laugh a fit of wild poetry into the sky, rushing, crying crazily, drifting, smiling yet weeping, who knows why-- If I could teach a river how to reach the sea and lose its body, ignoring the thousand waves looking on, not minding its own dissolving-- There cannot be a sea unless the river consents and whispers its own end. (translated by Martha Collins and Nguyen Ba Chung) |
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Issue #21, July, 2001 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.