About a hand of my mother, to know everything though, her line of the head (I wonder). Or, about the method of my mother, to know everything though, her line of the head (I wonder).
On turning, a way of looking at a dream, on changing too. Or, on turning, an ally of looking at a dream, on changing too.
Just out of my bathing, in the bedroom, my wife untying her hair.
The star has gone, rotating to see, the kaleidoscope I am.
The holly night dawns, only the rotation sounds I hear, of the magic lantern.