I lost a few goddesses from south to north,
also many gods from east to west.
A couple of stars went out forever, open up, oh heaven.
One island, another was lost in the sea.
I do not even know where I left my claws,
who walks with my skin,
who inhabits my shell.
My relatives became extinct when I crawled to the ground,
and only some small bone inside of me celebrates the anniversary.
I've jumped out of my skin, spilled vertebrae and legs,
I left my senses many, many times.
It's been a while since I've winked my third eye at that,
I flicked my fins, shrugged my branches.
It is lost, it is gone, it is scattered to the four winds.
I'm surprised at how little is left of me:
an individual being, for the moment of the human race,
that yesterday he simply lost an umbrella on a tram.
