The sea really does have a smell of pure
linen and thus of winding sheets. The
sea tastes like crayfish with a cross on their
Backs. The sea is bitter with ivy berries.
The sea is salt of sodium chloride.
The sea is like a requiem for Shelley.
And on the outer edge of thought the ship
Of your own ideas also capsizes.
The sea raises its poisonous hemlocks
of foam among the breakwaters.
The sea feeds on the mercury of mirrors.
The sea invites us to incest and
Suicide. The sea is the mean propor
tional of death and of love.
This is a poem from 'Metamorphoses'. To see a translation of the whole collection, go to here
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