Mold me here,
At the same harbor,
With a few drops of dew,
On such salty morning,
And
Upon the white lustrous sand,
You and I choose the blade of sins,
We keep the same hands of lies,
Too close to the broken mirror
Hurting us is done,
We are too weak to say no.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem