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The peddlers' stand is full of colourful stones
and high mountains
The miners
with old wagons
faded lanterns
filterless cigarettes
and dynamite boxes
pass by the stand.
I will buy you those high mountains
an old wagon
a few dynamite boxes
my old clothes
I will wear on you.
naked, I lie down behind the high mountains
you pass the mountains
in the antique wagon
you enter me
the laughter of the explosion of your colourful discoveries
echoes in me.
your discovers of blues, yellows, reds
you arrange them on my body
and call me with the voice of peddlers.
The peddlers' stand is full of colourful stones.
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