It doesn't turn anymore
the worn stone
the seasons halted at winter
I remember
when two bones， rubbed together
made people laugh
and weep at times
now， many rest
like broken marionettes
in shallow pits
It will always be cold
The new bread
common and tasteless
is no longer made here
warm like a cat
And vacant carriages
with wheels deaf as faces
never leave the pale houses
Yet I stay a moment longer
at the table
looking at the waxed and wired skull
wondering how to answer it
The eyes， no eyes
already have begun
to reclaim