" From beholding the blackbirds, evenings,
through the unbarred, that
surrounds me,

I promised myself weapons.

From beholding the weapons— hands,
from beholding the hands— the long ago
by the sharp, flat
pebble written line

— Wave, you
carried it hither, honed it,
gave yourself, un-
losable, up,
shoresand, you take,
take in,
sea-oats, blow
yours along— ,

the line, the line,
through which we swim, entwined,
twice each millennium,
all that singing at the fingers,

that even the through us living,
magnificent-unexplainable
flood does not believe us. "

― Paul Celan , Breathturn