A text is a sea. Living is sort of drift in this sea. Sometimes without any vessel, or plank to prevent oneself from drowing.

“If I see the ocean, it flows
Into my heart, I too am water!
Further than this , I cannot go.
Small organs. Beauty waving.
(I cannot go.)
(I cannot look more or again at the sea.)
[844] # 903
Roy Fernandez de Santiago
Erín Moure: O Cadoiro – Poems. Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 2007

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