Prayer


candle trays are heavy
I hardly find my way among dead and alive
holding a drop of new light
crossing myself with my hand still warm

the bell-ringer pulls down the rope
people stand shoulder to shoulder
I feel the earth’s silence
candle flames sizzling in the sand
straight or bending
separated or united  

an old cross raises in the churchyard
still upright
an apple tree almost touches the stone
leaning completely towards sunrise

I bow under the entrance vaults
crossing myself again
breathing much deeper
................................................................­........

Matins


Eyes opened behind their dark veils,
convent novices step outside
deep into the fresh snow, so soft and pure.

Their fragile long shadows
begin to take shape behind them
dragged over the ivory field, trembling.

Breaking his shroud of clouds
a new sun emerges in front of them
on the right side, as bells toll stronger.
.......................................................­........................

the prophet


crisscrossed fingers
he crucified dead in a row
on the left of daughters on the right of sons
over the eye of the cascade
or the mouth of the precipice

the dead kept silent
until sick and tired of all that
but he spoke about the love from one human to another
a contagious disease
he intended to put into quarantine

from the top of sweet wood crosses
wild roses and peaches without kernel
dropped down
until God woke up for good

it started to rain
lightnings touched the flint stone
and even he died of dream deprivation