As the air already tears me
To save myself I lose the grip
And I can’t follow or deprive me.
I know there will be horrible destructions
That their spikes will try to nail me
As if someone can confess me
Who was the one who said more than expressible
When crude fears and anxieties
Suddenly desisted from pain
And to steal from the sea its color
Because of that skin of cloves
That for being brave carried the goshawk
When it sculpted with rude claws.