The islands are pure.
Movements and the grotesque begin further away,
What splendour ! What masks !
Later on there are pearls.
Here are figs, slave girls, baskets, the seven snakes.
Over there are my mother's deserts.
I have never bowed down before
the shows of form and custom.
No matter how often I am multiplied by empires, snails, chasms
I still remain alone and purple
– an illusion between the sea and the mirror.
Lilies are my content.
This is how far I have come to know the gods.
This is my final mortal domain.
The light is high and austere.
I grow towards silver
I submerge in the dreams of algae.
Is that death travelling across the deep lands ?
I just hope it won't pass me by. There are forty veils on me.
Not a single one inside me.
My skin is dark.