Our abbreviated eyes from there. There where your face makes water. Turn the ice of the gaze. The root navigates. There they walk. Sad hands. That they forget me. The streets do not know me. They put me on notice. Over your mouth. From the doubts that emerge, they scream, they dodge. On your breasts of earth. With its neap tides. With its twilights of mouth. Divine bread from which it is born. And to you, ship brought from the night. Chain of the pages of life.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.