A Tavern
Here the dead are carousing

Here they shake their heads

to the music of shroud bells.

Emigration
They're all gone

towards that place in the North

where the grasses grow

to the height of their breasts

They left behind them

tattered strips from their children's clothes

and the pegs of their tents

They're gone

Their children on the backs of mules

Their youths carrying baskets

and their sheep's bells

They were like a cloud

climbing up to heaven

The more they penetrated the land

the more their shadows expanded

and returned towards the camps

Their dogs were mute

They would surpass the migrating crowd , then sit down

their eyes watching

the moving shadows

as they ran back ward

like a dark river.