Penelope

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.