Waking up in the morning we catch a mere fragment
From a whole, clinging to tatters, to threads come off
As we had dreamed it in the night, when their whole
Came to be known, in the distinct sky of those trees
That sway from their inside to their outside of the air.
In a hopeless struggle against the wind of the trees.
Our trees are fragments of a sky, torn from its wind.
Our dreams are just trees from their inside to the sky.