I placed my dream in a boat
and the boat into the sea
Then I ripped my sea with my hands
so that my dream would swim.
My hands are still wet
with the blue of splashed waves,
and the color that runs from my fingers
colors the deserted sands.
The wind arrives from far east,
night bends itself with the cold;
under the water in a boat
my dream is sinking to the deep.
I'll cry as much as necessary
to make the sea grow
so that my boat will sink to the bottom
and my dream disappear.
Then everything will be perfect:
the beach smooth, the waters orderly,
my eyes dry like stones.
and my two hands - broken.
-- Cecilia Meireles, Brazil 1901 - 1964