At this very moment the stars
open up the heavens.
And even when God shall become silent
and it will seem we have had the last word
what will we have said?
Against whom will we have fought,
and for what? For the dawn
does not break needing to defend itself,
and the blades of grass do not bow
before the passing wind
with fear or respect,
nor in order not to look.
Do firelight, the autumn,
the trees not dead, but bare
with arms outstretched on high
above clothes thrown off
but not forgotten,
really resemble us so little?
We who desire to not fear death,
but not because we have defeated it.