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Poems After Paul Celan
The Whitest Dove of All
The whitest dove of all flew up: I am allowed to love you.
In the gentle window sways the gentle door.
The still tree stepped into the still room.
You are as near as if you were not here.

Out of my hand you take the big flower.
It is not white nor red nor blue – but you take it.
Where it never was it will forever stay.
We never were, so we remain with it.