the flocks of birds will rise, in undulations, and cover up the sky.
sick people, capable to cough their lungs out, when narcotized,
fall pale with faces down from second story heights.

and, chained those thoughts that leave the head,
in empty room, desire that overtakes the bet
leaves lead on tongues that cry for black.

from burning bridges the red light dwells
on faces in possession of some gentle thing,
blamed is the heart for signal smoke,
spits the farewell.