All of my eyes see different;
For if my own vision unkown
A pile of orange isn't seen-
For green grass isn't green
And grey clothes I see, if white;
Drapes and grapes are blue to see

To step I do in wet soil, to knees I see
Earth for sure is there yet underneath
For deeper sensing be it, for dry winds spin
Sirrocos didn't exite for enough hot I feel
And the moon lay down for sun is gloom
Needles grow, and the feeding is done by me

And mourn, remorse, regret yet numb
For I acknowledge not, nor I do feel
For a pile of orange isn't seen-
And the grass onto I caress isn't green;
Cause if not if I see, yet dark is seen
For skin is nothing, my blue and my dream.