The night is poor

there is only quiet music.

Light is on in every second home

and people draw angels on the wall.

They have books

which sink them

in dust and cobwebs.

You are a small letter

in each of my verses

I am a woman

what is hidden

behind the size of meteors.

To these our people

their children grow up in a box,

and the drawings with angels on the wall

no one will house them

deep inside.