Your strip is no longer a strip.
Like a stranger who is not
Sure of the street or the house,
Something takes life away
In the depths of what are ashes.
Glass trembles with every explosion
Which falls and sets it on fire.
A vast cry goes out to the islands,
Through a wounded doorway to the sea,
Marked with your raptured scarlet veins,
Which falls on a deaf ear.
You want to restore living in dignity —
Sometimes when you stop being,
Stop coming and stop going
Under blankets of ruins
And the heavy feet of death;
Rise, my dear, rise
Like stepped on dust,