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■ The oak
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I drink the flame of love from skin to bone;
The fire in your blood makes waves. In dream Your bosom stays with me, but then, alone, I fall asleep in harsh ways to your beam. My sweaty brow is like a sky of ash, With birds in pain and eagles to achieve; Just listen now and give me your red flesh In days of famine. Swift you have to leave As rivers left the Earth in holes of clay. The moon is rising through the eyes of time, And I expect the veins to whom you pray - With passion bury me in arms of crime. Forgotten are the paths of lonely breeze, And trees are dying on their wooden knees. 24.06.2008
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