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In Memory of Abel Martin

     While the fish of fire traces its curve,
near the cypress beneath the supreme blue,
and the blind child flies in the white stone,
and in the elm the ivory couplet
of the green cicada beats and returns,
let’s honor the Lord
— the black stamp of his good hand —
who has dictated the silence in the clamor.

     To the god of the distance and the absence,
of the anchor in the sea, the open sea…
He frees us from the world — omnipresence —
opening for us a path to walk on.

     With the hidden cup well-filled,
with this ever-filling heart,
let’s honor the Lord who has made the Void
and has sculpted in faith our reason.

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