I know it's all in me: the sky, the bird,
the infinite penumbra where he prays
their sorrows the bush and the brush
says the sob of his ingrave grief.
The sweet spirit of water knows
that is my brother's cleaning
copy the infinity of my sadness,
and his complaining between my chest fits.
Well everything has life and has a cult
which is mine; and there is a hidden link
that binds beings to their cravings.
Sad things are if I'm sad;
if I cry for everything that exists,
they cry all the lives in my eyes.