Friday, April 30, 2010


Walpurgis 4

The bells ring.
The cockerel screams
the morning rises on wet grass
and ashheap, on discarded flowers

you are the light that comes
the mass for the saint
you are the first flower
of spring

let the earth cast off its cold,
let summer come again
and I will be the sun
and the scarecrow
and the berries in the hedge,
I will be the dust swept behind the door,
gladden me with wine, with fresh water

I am the briar in the churchyard,
jack of the green,
toadstools in the deep wood

I am the last sheaf of barleycorn,
and you are scythe's bright blade

you are birdsong in the thicket,
you are fresh clean water,
and the moon
and the moon
and the moon

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