[I woke up among skyscrapers and the dawn whispered to me: "You live against nature."
I tried to remember, but I realized the memories were no longer there.
I decided to leave, because I was living too fast.

I put my efforts into taking care of a small garden.
Like an echo, I remembered his words: "Let them take away what we danced."
Unable to discern between reality and absurdity, I clung to absurdity.
I forgot my obligations and arranged everything for one last supper.

They came to bury me, but they had to leave empty-handed.
Amidst toasts and laughter, I proposed a burial according to my rules.
When I die, I told them, bury me where the sun caresses the flowers.

And on a winter afternoon only dried flowers remain on my grave.]