Maybe it is true we have to return
to the black air of ashcan city
because it is there the most life was burned,
as ghosts or criminals return?
But no, the city has no monopoly
of intense life. The dust burned,
golden or violet in the wide land
to which we ran away, images
of passion sprang out of the land
as whirlwinds or red flowers, your hands
opened in anguish or clenched in violence
under that sun, and clasped my hands
in that place to which we will not return
where so much happened that no one else noticed,
where the city's ashes that we brought with us
flew into the intense sky still burning.
