Ravens are circling in middle of head

Stones of desert are crushing a solitude

Old stem is oscillating in distance

Blowing traces is derecting at a place

Blowing wind is changing face of the days

White river rests in silence

Stones belong to tumulus of tommorows

Hiding place of meditation is dilating the swell

Visions of wise ones are drowning tears

Falling dew in the hairs of oldmen

Reminders of life are circling in middle

Light of fires on the way of hearing

Touches are streaming from the interior of cavities

Gods is opening brow of dawn

Roar is dying down in the echo of horns

Palms are puting together by desire of flaming