Fluid is the night which I plunge in,

Coloured by the sunset, enlightened by the moon.



I weave weft of dreams

Erasing them with reality,

I wait for Death

That will come from the sea.



I grow flowers watering them

With blood and I destroy them

With the look of someone who has seen

And knows too much,

They read a world in me,

In me they perceive the dream,

Roads of sea, houses of clouds,

I weave, and my thread is Death.