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.