Rest and Silence
Shepherds buried the sun in the barren forest.
A fisherman drew
The moon from the freezing pond in a hairy net.
In blue crystal
The pale man dwells, the cheek leaned on his stars;
Or he inclines the head in purple sleep.
But always the black flight of birds touches
The beholder, the sanctity of blue flowers,
The nearby stillness ponders forgotten things, extinct angels.
Again the forehead lapses into night in lunar stone.
A radiant youth,
The sister appears in autumn and black decay.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt