Yes always, there is the self, black and near.

Silver, the head of the unborn sank down.

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.

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