For whoever is lonely there is a tavern.

200

The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.

200

When we are thirsty, we drink the white waters of the pool, the sweetness of our mournful childhood.

194

I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.

193

Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.

176

Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.

175

Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters.

133

Frost and smoke. A white shirt of stars burns your worn-out shoulders, and God's vultures tear at your metallic heart.

112

Despair, night in the grieving senses.

64