Suddenly the tender May became the most bitter holiday
Dust turns in the somnolent air
Is vinegar really a better treat than blood
But I’ve already forgotten this taste

You like a poor gypsy child
kiss the hand touching the earth
in the shadows of wet banners
we lit the memorial sun

A lit paper boat
sinks in the cloud of the hot heavens
tender May or glassy October
we bury our brides today