Who are you, trekking along rough roads,
sweat secreting from your bodies?
- We are the reapers of the rolling hills.
We set out at dawn
and harvested the wind
and time
and hallucinations sprouting
like the grasses of the savanna

O! how weird our harvest can be
If the night hadn't fallen so soon
we would've reaped with our scythes
silence, death and stone
and descended toward the sea
and gathered the waves and their quavering
to make everything perfect,
perfect and definite.