H has appeared almost without warning, like the dawn. His amarilláceo body identifies it in the fog. It looks like a solemn and silent tears. But the wheat, this morning pure spring wheat, he said, has come to permeate the fields of spikes and celebrate the gods honor fertile. With his dream is still dance anthem, with its anthem persist beyond the eyes. Of all the named, which never delivered. What we never had a presence no air, no sleep was oboe. The land was quiet and retracted the sunrise.
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H o I am no longer and been more myself than ever.
***
V ariation of a subject without end, life.
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