The ancient God blows a dark horn
– he calls us. Fallen amid thorns and shrubs
he climbs a stack of blackthorns
and lifts his arms with the power of a sorcerer.
And from us, each alone, rapturously
he wanders all follows his own holiness.
From eternity he drains exaltingly
and imprudently – he arranges space and time.
Silent, the cosmos listens
mute, releasing sounds and shafts of light.
It awaits, secretly depositing a soul
for its rays to shine through.
Which cosmos, which man and god
inflicts upon us the alluring light and dark:
all within all entwines and syllable within syllable
nests, with the love of a brother and a demon.
Which cosmos, which god and man
awaits the alluring light and rak.
All within all entwines – every hunter
has a cord and leaps over the threshold.