The sky is the blue dressing table
With puffy cotton balls, torn and chaotic
And the sea is the mirror reflecting
The blue paint, adding a silvery shine.
Now and then she stands here
Alone in time, and at night
When the mirror is black.
Wave after wave, her memory turns over
Calender sheets, here is the place
She combs her hair and looks at her self:
Always a different person,
But she feels no surprise
Now years have gone by
In a spur of the moment.
The blue dressing table is the sky
Where clouds are randomly chosen,
The mirror is a sea
In whose waves she dives.