Vision
I see the faces change their complexion

peel off their outer skin

I see faces divested

of makeup and masks

and I see an empty stage

the spectators danying their own images

in the third act.

I see a poor man rise

and dream of recreating order.

He doesn't frequent the idlers' cafes

The papers don't carry his picture,

news agencies don't relay his words.

He carves the image of his absent love

on the ceiling of a mountain cave

and sings.