Under the yoke of our mornings
the sun crumbles
and in the darkness of our steps
our panting breath is on fire
...
In that good and distant city
in a courtyard full of grass
...
Three small dreams, alone
pass through the night
searching for a house
...
We are alive this morning
And are still here
We cried a lot
...
He bequeathed his soul…to horses' foreheads
His feet…to a dance that makes the earth want to
Be green
...
Away from the flowerpots
and the scissors of the housewives
in the graveyards the rose bushes whisper:
...
Who loves the winter as you do?
And is fascinated by trees that resist the wind as you do?
And who like you perfects life
...