המתת השור

Jerusalem morning
grey sky wind wistling
missa criola
pure voices pure tristesse

love is whirling through my life like the wind
as if time was furiously turning
and reshuffle the dead leaves
love ^passed

love dead
Bach retouched by Bresilian
jewels
only them are now showing
sparkles
far away
in oblivion
we - ,miserable creatures of instants -
are built by the depth of our feeling s
and the depth of our leaving
and the beginnings of our living
the Kerem boy was dreaming yesterday
calme et tranquille
like a verlaine poem