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. . .
Mute,
my head covered,
I stand with a pebble on my lips
in front of a wall of fire
and oblivion
counted
among the helpers
of death
. . .
Take the ash from me,
take the weight from me it’s not
my fault, let me carry
to the other shore
of the wound: penitence,
pity
. . .
Dawn, the color of the Seine,
color of wormwood and gall
. . .
Mute,
my head covered,
I stand with a pebble on my lips
in front of a wall of fire
and oblivion
counted
among the helpers
of death
. . .
Take the ash from me,
take the weight from me it’s not
my fault, let me carry
to the other shore
of the wound: penitence,
pity
. . .
Dawn, the color of the Seine,
color of wormwood and gall
