Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.

I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.

The blue of my eyes is extinguished in this night, the red gold of my heart.

Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.

The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.

Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.

The guilt of newborns is immense.