Retrospective
Birth
Mountains: blackness, silence and snow.
The hunt descends red from the forest.
O, the mossy gazes of the deer.
The mother's silence; under black firs
Sleeping hands open
When the cold moon appears in ruins.
O, the birth of man. Nocturnally blue water
Murmers in the rocky ground;
Sighing, the fallen angel beholds his image,
A pale shape awakens in a stuffy room.
Two moons,
The ancient eyes of the stony woman gleam.
Woe, the screams of childbirth. With black wings
The night touches the boy's temple,
Snow that falls softly from a purple cloud.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt
