Anciently
a mind overflew
those tables that have
tracesof suicidals.
The flesh,
numb because of the waiting,will soothe.

They wait in vain,
the door ajar,
for some darkness to rescue themfrom so much dreadand they dream.What do the shaky bodiesthink about?

The shades
that were once sperm?
Some dwarves
who want their mothers
to be blind,
close the door.
Silence falls.