Yellow on white, smell of fried egg: For dipping bread. II loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me not… The flower loses petals in a spiral. Doubt is fatal, debate cowardly, lethal between two opposite poles. III A faint aroma of saffron and a stench of sewage. Impassive, the odourless complicity of white. IV Like a premonition, before I understand it I feel the stench. V Of grief and pain I recognize the smell. I no longer need to look to follow the procession. Alfred Porres Pla