Earth does not burn, nor
fire groan. Wheels spin into
wheels and the wheel remains.
The idols never slit the throats
of beasts but sit in solemn
frozen jubilation. You drag me
through these midnight hours
by the hair, by the throat,
by tongue and tooth. You
make me hurt, you make
me feel––cruel compassion,
you make me bleed!––and all
for naught unless you see aright.
λεγει αυτω Μαρθα οιδα οτι αναστησεται εν τη
αναστασει εν τη εσχατη ημερα
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