Over Europe

Evening. We are in flight, plucking at the wool
Of the clouds. Beneath us a white kingdom
Azure triumph. We speed on and pay no heed
Borders armies herds

As if on the century's crest we push aside
The mildew of history the wars as if they had not been
A lady shakes the sighs from her handkerchief
Somewhere over Mauthausen

I look out the window. I do not know why I laugh
While slowly emptying the bottle with my friend
Who will be born there below us tonight
Merchants? Sartre? Generals?

Evening. We are in flight. Beneath us pensive
Europe drowses over serious matters
Sleep on wise lady I never bothered
About your whims which were not mine.