I light the candles on my own grave

deep flames are burning and bleeding



Night

hundreads of eyes without life

surround me

they have darkened dead ones

everyone nailed with a golden cross

to the rocks



somewhere

surrounded by the dry trees

on the truncated stump

senile from the teers of rain

stands a sun-dial

but there is no sun

its face gleams in time with Thunders

Thunders strike the hours



Woman among the trees

has a Black Ring

She is going to stand in a Magic Circle

rises Her hands

tight hand with Ring slowly spreads



Goddess

freezed in immobility

fingers are growing longrer

they are creating a thicket

of branches



Her statuesque body

becomes a dry trunk

now in this place stands a tree

dry as others

but in the place of Ring

blossoms a Black Flower



She was crying

now tears fo rain are flowing slowly on Her bark

She was breathing

now wind tongles in Her branches

the candles on my grave are burning for Her

they died out

they succumbed to the breath of wind...