I do not have easy days at home now and I drift between fear and helplessness in sunny rooms where it is unspeakably cold. Strange shudders of transformation, bodily experienced to the point of vulnerability, visions of mysteries until the certainty of having died, ecstasies to the point of stony petrifaction, and a continuation of dreaming sad dreams.

The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.

Black frost. The ground is hard, the air tastes bitter. Your stars cluster in evil signs.

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

I do not have easy days at home now and I drift between fear and helplessness in sunny rooms where it is unspeakably cold. Strange shudders of transformation, bodily experienced to the point of vulnerability, visions of mysteries until the certainty of having died, ecstasies to the point of stony petrifaction, and a continuation of dreaming sad dreams.

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

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