The stone of the hours hooked to my neck,
I dash into the swell of a sick ocean,
The eels move aside and the shadow invades me,
The tide rots on the sand of ages,
And the wrinkled sky is darkened with purple superstitions
The beauty of the roses has the violence of a war song
The fruits of the black apple tree drip with disappointed hopes
Let me betray the wind, set the clocks on fire,
I am lost in Time
Blood beads from the watches of businessmen,
Their hands are like swords in the evening water
A red ant climbed on my naked shoulder
To watch the world turn white like an old man
I gave shelter to a poet for a few seconds
His cries of rage still invade my grave