I entered the mist that makes the eyes forget
there is no going back
in this prison of arctic prisms, there are birds that give immortality to this place, to this city
in the mist the men and women master the hurricane like a wounded bear
there is a lighthouse invaded by the cruel mist and the gray color is on the lips of the men who die standing

St John’s under the fog that makes fingernails disappear
Oh a dead whale of dark days and fishermen create a fantasy which brings the noise in every ear as far as British Columbia