The clouds are hair
rising like rivers;
are the white gestures
of the mute singer;
are statues in flight
at the edge of a sea
light fauna and flora
of countries of wind;
are the painted eye
sliding motionless;
the woman who leans
on the edges of sleep;
are the death (the awaited for)
behind the closed eyes;
the remedy, white!
our white days.
Translated by Ashley Brown