They were naked
and they had children
whose hair they tickle in the evening
and sleep
They were naked and simple
would sweat all day smiling
on their way back they stand in front of façades
their eyes measure clothes for their children
and walk
They would take two steps and touch
the trees' trunks before the dawn breeze
under their eyes branches bear fruits
in the January snow
Their machetes would long for the fields
The wind between the villages always ready for their call
when suddenly their wheat turned into ribs
and the breeze became grass growing on their bodies.
They were naked
and every evening the sun was
throwing her light silken cover
on their souls.