I touch hatred like a covered breast;
I without stopping go from garment to garment,sleeping at a distance.
I am not,
I'm of no use,
I do not knowanyone;
I have no weapons of ocean or wood,
I do not live in this house.
My mouth is full of night and water.
The abiding moon determineswhat I do not have.
What I have is in the midst of the waves,a ray of water, a day for myself,an iron depth.
There is no cross-tide, there is no shield, no costume,there is no special solution too deep to be sounded,no vicious eyelid.
I live suddenly and other times I follow.
I touch a face suddenly and it murders me.
I have no time.
Do not look for me when drawingthe usual wild thread or thebleeding net.
Do not call me: that is my occupation.
Do not ask my name or my condition.
Leave me in the middle of my own moonin my wounded ground.
