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.