Now the wind is warm and the children slaughtered
and the crickets sing cavatinas in the soft, dark grass.
Now it is time to consider the douceurs of revolution.
The air is orange and pink. Death is the final solution.
The final word of life is No. In one grand fission,
our love is finished like a mission. The silence
sealed the hours between us, and I was so afraid
that you wouldn’t understand my violence.