'THE TEMERAIRE' BURNING IN THE SEA OF SAN JUAN DE LA CIÉNAGA Comments

I made the sailors tie me to the mast so I could observe it. For four hours they kept me tied up; I thought I would die; but I wanted to fix the image in case I remained alive.
William Turner

The red sail sings on the sea of iron,
It spreads its arms like Christ facing the infinite shore,
Almost in ashes the blue gold with its great mystery.
It almost has the color of the wings of the future in the darkness.
Under the tremor of the soul of the sailor
The amazed moon on the prow is already ashes.
Ashy is the love of the Countess's portrait
And the song of the dream of the colors suffering
Under human veins.
The sea breathes, scents the borders of a ship
Sinking in the dream.
"The Temeraire" has ripened under the fire,
It no longer feels the rusty waves, but its sails
Hurt it, its colors hurt it,
It is frightened by another light not spread by time.
The wind kneels down like a god wounded in the bow,
And the enraged firmament
Sees the falling of an empire of wood and iron,
Near an improvised town in a valley
Where phantoms
Write on the sand the name
Of an English painter who went mad for love of the sirens.
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