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.