Urn was carrying the snow
unmelted like the soul of night.
It was a very strange winter
like araucaria puzzle.
Who was dragging the evergreens
over the chaste cliff?
All the incoherent roots
have broken the placenta for new gods.
Millionaires?
The marriage of basil at dusk with a paperweight,
unleaving the road.
I was hearing the footsteps of dawn,
though sky was not listening to knocks.
