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.