the melted distant faces
from insignificant places
the blood of a thousand peoples
whose lives were led like steeples
the men were the tree-bulls
while the women
were combing their hair
in the silken blue night air
the children were chasing
and tying their shoes with lacing
going two by two
learning too soon the blues
they all were cursed and bossed
as everything was lost
but only to go on and on
until the script is gone
the same old human race
with its melted ageless face