Distant Village

The mountains are pitiless / the rain is melting the snow / it will freeze again. // In the cafe two strangers / play the accordion / and the room of men are singing. // Tunes are filling / the sacks of the heart / the troughs of the eyes. // Words are filling / the stalls / which bellow between the ears. // Music shaves the jowls / loosens the joints, / the only cure for rheumatism. // Music cleans the nails / softens your hands / scours the callouses. // A room full of men / come from drenched cattle, / diesel oil, the eternal shovel, // are caressing / the air of a love song / with sweetened hands. // Mine have left my wrists / and are crossing the mountains / to find your breasts. // In the cafe two strangers / play the accordion / the rain is melting the snow.