Green was the silence, wet was the light,the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

And let me talk to you with your silencethat is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

Fear envelops bones like new skin,envelops blood with night’s skin,the earth moves beneath the soles of the feet -it is not your hair but the terror in your head,like long hair made of vertical nails,and what you see are not shattered streets,but rather, within you, your own crushed walls,your frustrated infinity, again the city comescrashing down: in your silence, only water’s threatis heard, and in the waterdrowned horses gallop through your death.

Once more I am the silent one who came out of the distance wrapped in cold rain and bells: I owe to earth's pure death the will to sprout.