the bush of barrenness on
the mountain of drought
awaits nothing,
stands immodest
empty –
when the Lord’s Day comes,
and a thousand swans lift
the veil
off the eternal gardens,
a dove shall eat
ripe berries from the bush
on the mountain of drought –,
and a wind shall play:
always, always
have these berries fully ripe
awaited this day,
to praise from
the mountain of drought
His Day –