Untitled #5

once again spring
catches us by surprise, sudden implacable
where is that
sweet smell coming from, I find it: the poplar's
green buds, opening
all
the joys of spring
have become the sorrows
of this spring
the Madonna's right cheek
has been cut
twice by a sword - these are not tears
that roll down her face but drops of blood
the sky is clear, only the sun
seems covered with something
shines as if through smoked glass
I see you: an ordinary woman
expecting a baby
kneeling before a dark
picture
filled with endless tenderness
in your womb you carry degeneration
and death