New Year, don't come to our homes, for we are wanderers
from a ghost-world, denied by man.
Night flees from us, fate has deserted us
We live as wandering spirits
The night asks who am I ?
I am its secrets-anxious, black, profound
She stood before the sun, screaming:
'Sun! You are like my rebellious heart
Why do we fear words
when they have been rose-palmed hands,
fragrant, passing gently over our cheeks,
and glasses of heartening wine