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.
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.