He was squeezing his eyes in the sky
with maple leaves hands
and placing them in the orbits like children.

The mouth lets its sticky words
on the autumn rusting lips.
A temptation as a disease
wanted to steal it for luck.

On the long and slimy halls
Luchian’s anemones
were not feeling at ease.

People in white robes
were making the difference.
In this hospital, like a camp
people die of poverty and theft.

Otherwise, death is part of the context
and the lights turn off.