“We are a sign that is not read We have lost our pain, and have almost Forgotten speech in foreign lands ...” 🔮

We are a sign, meaningless

We are a sign that is not read We are painless and have almost Forgotten speech in exile.

But if there is strife in heaven over mankind And the moon travels in force, so the sea Will speak and the rivers must Find their way. Undoubtedly, though, There is one, who Can bring forth change daily. He scarcely needs The law. And it sounds the leaves and rings the oak trees By the glaciers. As not everything is possible for The heavenly ones. That is, mortals almost Reach into the abyss. Thus it turns, the echo, With them. *Time is Long, but the truth Will come to pass.

But what of love?* We see Sunshine on the ground and burnished dust. And deep with the forest shadow and it blooms Smoke from the rooftops, in the old crowns Of towers, peaceful – the signs of day are good, that is, If an immortal wounds The soul in answer. For snow, the abundant, like flowers, stands signified where It may, glistening off the green Alpine meadow, half There, speaking of crosses, the Law is the dead at one stage Along the way, on higher paths A wanderer moves in wrath, Knowing from a distance with The other one, but what is this?

At the fig tree my Achilles died to me, And Ajax lies In the grottoes of the sea, At the brooks bordering Skamander.

Following the fixed, constant tradition of Salamis, Ajax died of the temple’s fury in strange lands. Yet Patroclus in the king’s armor. And Many others also died. At Kithairon Lay Eleutherae, the city of Mnemosyne. There, too, when God’s mantel was cast off, the one like night then parted Her locks. Celestials, that is, are Unwilling, if one had not gathered His soul together in healing, but he must; in the same way Suffers the mourner.