they say don’t get lost in the weeds
without a torch because the easiest way
may be through fire
they say blow the death whistle
at the sight of the bonfire
and they say do
hope for the next summer grain
even with a face black with soot
each time they looked for a reason
they found a residue
each time they heard a name
it was that of their fathers
till the voices got hoarse with lies
and they disappeared in the smoke
Frédéric Benqué 