I want to sleep the dream of the apples   To withdraw from the tumult of cemeteries   I want to sleep the dream of that child   Who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas   I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood   That the putrid mouth goes on asking for water   I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass   Nor of the moon with the serpent's mouth that labors before dawn   I want to sleep a while   A while, a minute, a century   But all must know that I have not died   That there is a stable of gold in my lips   That I am the small friend of the west wind   That I am the immense shadow of my tears   Cover me at dawn with a veil   Because dawn will throw fists full of ants at me   And wet with hard water my shoes   So that the pincers of the scorpion slide   For I want to sleep the dream of the apples    To learn a lament that will cleanse me of the earth   For I want to live with that dark child   Who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas