The Woman with Her Narcissus.

Tomorrow the clean white snow will cover the smoky roofs behind my window the shining curtain of snow dances the narcissus buds in my vase on the table see the snow from behind the windows, they dance with the fragrance of long breaths they laugh beneath the roof that does not leak, the bright room. But today, like yesterday like all of past history I rise I walk the smoky streets of the city one by one I pick up the narcissi from the ground from the path of the car wheels: toward the roof that does not leak, toward the bright room, toward tomorrow or tomorrow...