One, four,
The turning of deterioration,
Our fate, monochrome worldliness,
The lesser breading is moderate
By the craft of human activity…
I drank the serosities of your corpse to dregs,
time's alcohol
Dilapidation where our twenty years glances capsize.
From beauty and place only devastation remains.
Dying returns your face to me.

By now as for a long time
I've had the face of the dead.
I know one day forgetfulness,
as memory today,
will give birth to the same familiar strangeness
in my inner self.
This day will pick up the poor luminary song,
like the air collect the light;
like death collect the glance.
like the air collect the light;
like death collect the glance.
On the pupil of drowned man,
the breath of the beloved word will be erased.
Then I will give my self away.
The staggering step of the air straightness,
Where the heavy flesh breathes.

space where a name is articulated.
Your unpronounceable name,
Embodied for it is named again.
Imperceivable fall,
towards this space opened for silence,
Which skims without crossing it,
with its thin pulsation,
the black frost of the [bad word] blood.