Many times, the channels directing
The waves break the flow of the massive Sea. The MRI shakes The soul, the patient lies there, passive. Every time you feel the massive Generators, until your body Trembles with its throbbing, Until it loosens every knotty Trigger point, the hundred foot Waves swamp the oiler deck, It enters the trough, the sea roars. In one type of wave, the caps fleck Higher than the bow, in another, A running wave, the ship feels Itself running in the sea, With both, a deepness steals Into the crew, with both, the sky And sea are no longer the sky And sea, there’s no more roar, Silence, praise, which signify.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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