Bright Day

I sing this morning: Hello, hello,
the devil is a good guy,
the sun is a good fellow, no deaths today I know.
I proclaim the bright day of the soul
and the dark night of the soul.
I live because I live. I do not die because I cannot die.
In my garden, death questions every root, flowers reply.
I know the dark night of the soul
does not need a night,
as a beggar does not need a hand or a bowl.


The Man Tree

The man who walks through a field in December
wears a blue suit, but above his shoulders
where his head and neck should be,
an apple tree grows
stripped of its leaves by winter.
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