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The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.
When we are thirsty, we drink the white waters of the pool, the sweetness of our mournful childhood.
Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters.
Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.
The blue of my eyes is extinguished in this night, the red gold of my heart.
I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.
Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.
For whoever is lonely there is a tavern.
