Eliot

Frame my heart in paschal blood
and paint signs of warding on my brow.

Es geht dir gut, ja?
Mais, j'ai peur.
Es solamente un sueño.
Stilte. Slaap.

I saw him trampling out that vintage,
saw his feet upon the mountains.

Was tust du hier?
No quiero morir.
Ah, je t'aime.
Quid ergo dicemus ad haec si Deus pro nobis
qui contra nos?

Das Fleisch und Der Teufel

Isaiah the prophet stood upon a lowly hill with
two fists full of earth and fire in his mouth
his eyes abounding with the sight of God
John the preacher went down into the water
and the river curled around his dirty toes
The dead man Lazarus lifted up his cloth-swathed
head and walked into the world
The hand of God is a shaping hand caked
with mud and clay and dust
The word of God is a killing word
and a word of resurrection

Hermeneutics

Time is a tautology
made of moving parts.
Space is a syllogism,
the room for thoughts to play.

Did they ever tell you
otherwise? Did you hear
there was no law for
transients like us?

You climbed up Mount
Moriah and told the
winds you flew. But
where were you when

the foundations were laid
and the sons of God rejoiced?