What if these long races go on repeating themselves

century after century, living in houses painted light colors

on the beach,

black spiders

having turned pale and fat,

men walking thoughtfully with their families,

vibrations

of exhausted violin-bodies,

horrible eternities of sea-pines!

Some men will leave their houses

To live on rafts tied together on the ocean,

those left on shore will go inside tree trunks,

surrounded by bankers

whose fingers have grown long and slender,

piercing through rotting bark for their food.