Within the poet there is a man – he cleans the stains on his skin.
Within the man there is a beast – it cleans the stains inside the fur.
Within the beast lies the sea – it sleeps outdoor among smugglers.
The body of March comes out warm from the frozen season
Like the foot of a girl from the muddy boot.
Winter bleats.
Places its milky head on the sacrifices’ stone appearing to say :
— Do I clothe my noddle with the sand of Africa?
— Or with white Mediterranean clay?
Condolence comes from poisons
As from honey flows death – sweat – blood – mud.
Summer came from the ground this year.
The black bread fell severely on our stomach.
Flowers sprouted on the hills.
On the sea waves germinated.
Patience melted into the forge.
EN 
MK