"A man is sleeping on a bench in front of the sanatoriumhe's been waiting for his folks like manna from heavenwhite and coiled upfrom the valley he seems to mea lamb biting into the green woodI could go near him, call himjolt him, hug himbut he took everyone out of spaceand timehe took himself out firstlike a leg rotting with gangrenebetween two drops of Nouleptilno human twitchif all his folks should come nowand sit down in circle as for initiationthey would only find his smilein an endless sleep,the yellow smile, the flower of the green wood."

by Denisa Comănescu (b. 1954)