Remedios Varo, "La maquina del sueno"

Icy flakes drift and float

From every fold of her cloak. 

Layers of fabric billow and drape

Around her in an amoebic shape.

Her headdress rises slim and sleek, 

Climbing skyward to an alpine peak. 

Her ghostly fingers emerge slow and grave, 

Like jellyfish flowing from an ocean cave.

How many prey has she caught in her net?

How long has she kept the moon as her pet?

Where did she harvest the pearls on her vest?

Why do her eyes drift mournfully west?

These and more questions we never can answer, 

No matter how nicely or sweetly we ask her. 

There’s no one more famous in the sea for shyness

Than Her Misty Majesty, Our Royal Highness.