The angel of childhood takes my hand

The starving dogs bark at the Moon,

a faraway cricket sings

the song of the summer.

The Moon rolls, foreign,

in silent slowness.

Facing the stars,

combining emptiness,

the world smiles at me

with his cadaverous face.

All the black cats,

those of their eyes on fire,

look at me with their immobile smile.

The lights of another village

Are blinking fearfully,

The stars promise

New magical spells

And a faraway invisible hand

is crossing herself.

I recover ancient myths of childhood

My hair grows past my neck.

Rectilinear, my hips get longer and smooth.

The curves of my breasts are gently erased.

My skin softens.

The road widens

And an invisible hand

settles on my forehead.

  (From "Cemetery of sparrows)