The sea is cold, but not in its wider depths,
Where the warm brotherly blood
Of capsized fishermen flows through the hanging nets
Which catch on to inner mountains
And wild, waving vegetation.
The beating, searching blood of fishermen flows
Through the depths of the sea,
Attracting various types of fish.
In the sea there are different hierarchies,
But there is a love, warm-blooded and wordless,
Sometimes taking monstrous forms.
It reaches no closer than the watershed,
And can suddenly disappear in an eddy,
Invisible at the surface,
Originating deeper down where currents collide.