She got up; the dawn broke And the spirit's pillar looked shinning. She got up; my blood shook, The wall shook, the guards collapsed as orphans. The magician cast his penknife in the kiln. The tiger laughed. The hedgehog wept. Seven sins inside the spirit smiled. The just king attended Decorated with the sound of my blood, My father's wildernesses And the desires of the grandfather, involved in temptation. I wept, the colors of the dream wept. She got up so as to lower seven luxurious heavens And down to earth restore brilliance to the dawn And make the morning a prophet And make the night childish Dancing round the fire. She got up to grant the hour What the hour grants to water. To grant obedience bitter riding And to the sting her enjoyment. To restore the black valley to the cold summer. She got up; I reached out my hand Toward her tender buds Toward her fresh pear. My palm spread out …. When the apples lay down. She got up; the light radiated and radiated. My heart is blind. My eyes penetrated into the valley the way a knife did. My blood squatted. My blood vibrated, purred like a wounded wolf. The light was on. Nothing but flowers separated My love's finger or my grave. The flowers adjacent as a drawing of frightened necks Became nearer to me. I looked at love's black valley. I was a flame from foot to head. The wild rain poured down. The ground lightened and shook as clothes in the wind. The kiln boiled up. But I did not reach the valley. I did not find out the well of curse, The necks of flowers. The wild rain poured down and burnt me Like a thunderbolt on my throne.