Black frost. The ground is hard, the air tastes bitter. Your stars cluster in evil signs.

Frost and smoke. A white shirt of stars burns your worn-out shoulders, and God's vultures tear at your metallic heart.

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.

When we are thirsty, we drink the white waters of the pool, the sweetness of our mournful childhood.

I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.