The sun is cold.
The invading clouds are warm.
Sleep under the clouds of the south—
The air of the south is roaming now.
Sleep. There is nothing to fear.
Awake with worry will do you harm.
The cloudy south is almost here.
Apollo rouses his troops in vain
Along the sunny plain.
Far away the mountains meet
The clouds in springs and dens.
Sunlight is the enemy
To the lovers in the drowsy glens.
With his precise eye
Apollo uses the sun to lie.
We counted the gold in the sun
And brought it somewhere low.
We distribute it to everyone
Who sleeps. Dream. Breathe the water in the air.
Wait. There isn’t anywhere to go.