This is the house where my children,
where the gas rised on the stairs to fill
the rooms where they sleeped,
the parlour where the dog
rolled up and never wake up.
These are the parents which
came back home late
suspecting nothing, but
ezitating at the entry,
then some clothes-the lanky hands and the legs tinkling like the muppets.

This is the moon which shined
all night long. Look how it rise again after years across the trees and the roof, how makes shadow by nothing. The rooms were empty, the toys were on the same places like always. We don't remember anymore their names, we, enough grown up people to ask how spreaded the pain, but we are becoming pale
when we are far away from home.

And,when we are passing by. with a little shaking we are keeping our breath as we could prevent
the arrival of the thing we can't hear and smell.