The poem Wailed Already covered in blood. My heart, too The rain tastes Of blood and bitter salt. Raven-like faces Slashed our dreams to pieces Our women Have offered Their wombs to the fires Our foetuses Are still hidden In the arid light What remains of the suns Of our virgins. Even our forests are no longer virgin.
Ravens cry out The caravans of death Promised our dreams to blood.
Time flees Aborted dreams. But belongs To those who eat well. When at the threshold of their misfortunes They saw the Gods All the Gods Melt in sobs. Our mothering daughters pungent with life Before the monster arrives And drains all the milk Before the monster arrives And rips away the life of our sublime life. Your eyes are of marble.