The sky crumbles
A black crumb descends
Into our bowl
Rushing and twisting along its patterns
A swathe of snake's mane -
God's feather dipped into holy water

Over the water
Mt earthly appearance
Stretching, swaying
With a heavenly figure
Mingling
And whispering:

'Go to the geographer
Under his golden needle thirsting kneel
Take bread and wine! '

So I did
I crumbled under an ash-white hand
Held out to me
Somewhere the raging sign stopped
The sky joined together again
In our bowl
Full of earth
For the pecking

Translated by: Lence Milosevska and Margaret Reid