Train
A rattling train, full of passengers travelling
to their death passes through my mind.
Christ stands in the front wagon
and reads his metaphysical poems to them
and you who I’ve come to know and you,
who I never met, have your frightened eyes
glued on the windowpanes
and you, oh cursed world of mine,
coal, coal to be burnt in the bowels of earth.
And, high up, the night resembles
the Epitahpios cubicle.
Libros Libertad 