It navigates the universe, a fin, for harbor is the universe an oar.
As the shore of an anchor moors the tide The wind-breathing of the sky inhales As existence a shoal of the sea spills Beauty encircles the hour returns
The beauty of the undulant waves bring each orbits the weeping of the ages and with swells of the size of creation completes its renewal begins again
The soul is an ancient such mystery it knows is equal to the seasons.