Well-hidden in the hollow willow trunk
I see the lightning zigzag in the river’s glass.
The thunder shakes the land.
I’m drenched down to my very skin,
immoderately happy – to the heart’s
From the soggy stump
with gleaming moss comes a smell of coffin wood.
And suddenly I see myself outstretched:
the finger wears the ring still, everything else
shudders to glaring ash
– And with a sudden screech
the eaglet soars.
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