Rain grieves on the rooftops.
Rose trees are lifting their little hands.
In the depths of the night river,
the water bursts into flame.
That fording place on the river,
where the plovers cry,
when will your horse splash
through its clear water,
coming to meet me?
I see myself in a red mirror; you are with me.
Twenty years from now I will look in that mirror
and see us together.
Star flux in the highest darkness.
Leaves are falling from trees in Guatemala
Nothing will ever change.