Fragments from the year 1989

. . .

my head covered,
I stand with a pebble on my lips
in front of a wall of fire
and oblivion

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,


. . .

Dawn, the color of the Seine,
color of wormwood and gall