The counting:

Surrealist poem: zero one three the Water Gate opens and the spheres of light enter the sun is silent again , the same sound as the last time particles float, they are, they go zero nine one thousand The eclipse closes on the Emerald lake the moon invites darkness, from its lower back dancing to the golden chair everyone trembles a little, but not much, but enough ten I hold the air that is not in my throat two but the sight in my third eye is clouded one thousand the curtain falls, the white cloak worn by the lady made of stars naked now under the infinite coldness of our looks infinite finite begins it is the end life death the room vanishes as blurred rain and we who watch it fall from the northern sky, We count and we ran out of numbers all the words are shouted tender bite on the invisible neck, and the emotions frozen before our eyes melt one two three and everything starts again.