At the a laundry corner, the finisheds washing her face, there are one of
On Tuesday, of cyclopses, two have wept. Or, on Tuesday, the first one, two have wept.
One drop from, her hair tied up, like a tip of the brush.
To knit a boat, under the crotch of the earth, trying to pass you are.
Between sunset and 5 pm, setting fire.