‘What do you carry, dark child, mingled with your blood?’ ‘Sir, I carry salt-waters of the sea.’ ‘These tears of brine where do they come from, mother?’ ‘Sir, I cry salt-waters of the sea.’ ‘Heart, this deep bitterness, where does it rise from?’ ‘So bitter, the salt-waters of the sea!’ The sea smiles far-off. Spume-teeth. Sky-lips.