To the Sister
Where you go becomes autumn and evening,
Blue deer, which sounds under trees,
Lonely pond in the evening.
Quietly the flight of birds sounds,
The gloom above the arches of your eyes.
Your narrow smile sounds.
God has bent your lids.
At night stars seek, Good Friday’s child,
The arch of your forehead.
Nearness of Death
O the evening, which goes into the sinister villages of childhood.
The pond under the willows
Fills with the contaminated sighs of gloom.
O the forest, that quietly lowers the brown eyes,
When from the lonely one’s bony hands
The purple of his ecstacized days sinks down.
O the nearness of death. Let us pray.
During this night on tepid pillows
Yellowed by incense the lank limbs of lovers release.
Amen
Putrid shape gliding through the rotten room;
Shadows on yellow wallpapers; in dark mirrors
The ivory sadness of our hands arches.
Brown beads run through the dead fingers.
In the stillness
The blue poppy-eyes of an angel open.
The evening is also blue;
The hour of our dying, Azreal’s shadow,
Which darkens a brown garden.