I walk therefore I am    
 and I don't need much    
 let the bell toll    
 the withdrawal of our troops.        
  
 They were brave our soldiers    
 when the very shadow of their groans    
 fluttered before the night of the soul    
 suitable sister of a fiery cloud.        
  
 Post-Disaster Grass    
 was oily and textured    
 just like a damask    
 reddened with women's blood.        
  
 One step then another    
 the body began to shake    
 in front of the kiss of the sun    
 tormented by the crumpled clouds.        
  
 In the wheat of the fields    
 with a drunken butterfly    
 I assemble the beam of fire    
 for the return of the living.        
  
  
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