The ****** Devotee
tries to answer himself.
His mind is confronted
by all of its absolutes
of which the sunrise
and the sunset have no use.
He sits on a stone and mutters,

First, the gods win.
Then, the demons win.

and,

I am alone when I walk
at night, because the unborn
won't come from their hiding place
behind the new moon.

and,

Even more than the living
or the dead,
the unborn burden me
with countless good intentions.

You see, all his thoughts are fragments
because they accelerate themselves
through history to arrive
at the total ruin before the end.

If I dream about love
just a little bit longer
and a little bit better,
then creation will buckle
under all my conceptions and
I'll offend the guardians of fertility.

Again, these thoughts are so great
they are not even human, but that's
the result of dialogue with the unborn
when you try to resolve the unanswerable.