![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yn1P3OFTSXpUWKXN__68iUoV1FKOJ-gqD1MELFBgZwXdVznAueKqjaSnbmFsoZd8GpNF4sGCMhPrvUtyVXvWXQoRnozoYT3f-LCEo8gTNM0Uz4aYftcSvmRFY3sCo7cSsqqfXdVXQGk/s400/searosebeach2.jpg)
As the rose contains its stillness
and the sea time,
fire, more than fire, contains in certainty
a liturgy of itself, silence in silence,
from inside out overturning in stunning language
towards what atmosphere free from creatures,
towards what saintly prayer.
Ardent instant: its fervor is begot
in the tutelary pupil of the angel
and its substance is the night itself.
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