A carpet, into which the suffering landscape pales
Perhaps the Sea of Galilee, a boat in the gale
Golden things fall out of storm clouds
Insanity, that seizes the gentle human.
The old waters gurgle a blue laughter.
And sometimes a dark pit opens.
The possessed are reflected in cold metals
Drops of blood fall on glowing plates
And a countenance decays in black night.
Flags, which babble in sinister vaults.
Other things remind on the birds’ flight
Over the gallows the crows’ mystical signs
Coppery snakes sink in spiky grasses
In pillows of incense a smile whore-like and clever.
Good Friday’s children stand blindly at fences
In the mirror of dark gutters full of rottenness
The sighing recovery of the dying
And angels who go through white eyes
From lids dimming golden redemption.