On such a shore, under a steel sun, We confessed Antimatter poems. If only to know, What number is in last place? There is a visage And there are antimatter poems. Raised in nests, On the green wings of a fervent dusk, Raised on how the wind Narrows in on The plume of road Irrevocably. This currency is unable to attend a bank, though it stands by the river, and pays for everything.