Circuit

There is a cave upon a dusky shore
where the flame glimmers as does gentle night,
and dead silence spreads like clear foam galore
by black waves when they fall with all their might.

Cowls in a circle formed like a wheel;
a body on a white hammock with scars
under teardrops that beat louder than steel,
and a dense thicket as high as the stars.

Spring after that thunderstorm returned fair,
summer ruled the skies with his crown of wheat,
trees in autumn very little could spare
what leafless winter much renders to eat.

Together into the depths like a flake
with cries a pile of wilting flowers make.