How to speak with the world
When I hear
My own blood, not the moon drunk tide —
At dawn it’s I who rise
I who break
From dreams, I who know —

What is it that I know?
Not the world,
Unless between me and world the break
Is pierced by voices, hard to hear,
Which teach which way to rise —
Voices from my blood? Or from the tide?

If they are voices from the tide
What speaks? What can know
More than how to rise
As the moon pulls the world?
And what ear can hear
That rock and wave will not break?

The waters break, the stones break,
Drowned and dried in turn by tide
And sun, weed and worm hear
No voice as voice, yet they know
A way to make their world,
Can make a way to rise —

And they rise,
And they break
Free of ocean, find a world
They cover with a tide
Of life, and come to know,
To speak, to hear —

Is it their voices I hear?
Have I learned, with them, to rise?
Have I learned to know
A way to break
Out of the world’s tide
And still live in the world?

I know I hear the waves break
And hear the rise and fall of the tide —
But what voice can know this world?