on the lean years of our affections
the dreams have drawn for us
on that piece of sleep
this canvass of the night frame
twelve emaciated cows grazing on
the desert
what shall we do? if you still have your eyes with
you
kept in those sunken sockets
open them
slowly
the sage of Femagas has given you the most practical
prognosis
you are asleep and all you need to do is wake up
you still have 24 hours
of regret.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem