From a region of snow
Sweeps
An eagle’s wing
A calm
Smooth body
Stretches in the sand
Over waters whistles
A dense flurry or prayer
Let us leave
Our flint-rose
Our statues and urns
Let us descend
From the warm tunnel of infinity
From the towering rocks
Let us appear
Today the eye
of the mountain is closed
Z. Anchevski, D. Bowen, D. Mihajlovski