It doesn't turn anymore

    the worn stone

    the seasons halted at winter

    I remember

    when two bones， rubbed together

    made people laugh

    and weep at times

    now， many rest

    like broken marionettes

    in shallow pits

    It will always be cold

    The new bread

    common and tasteless

    is no longer made here

    warm like a cat

    And vacant carriages

    with wheels deaf as faces

    never leave the pale houses

    Yet I stay a moment longer

    at the table

    looking at the waxed and wired skull

    wondering how to answer it

    The eyes， no eyes

    already have begun

    to reclaim