ragged lilies under the window, on them a small bug red and shimmering
your blue four-winged steed
boiling water, icy wind, staggering around the fire, last year’s scandals
hiss, the year before last’s quarrels
dewed meadows, ticks suck the world’s blood
eyes barely open you hear how in you or in the brook babble
hungry mice that escaped from the dying city
not a crumb remains, nothing remains of childish
love, only tangled lines, unclear
feelings, the letter from Troy