Night Over the Lake by the Monastery

The lake has dried up, has faded from sight.
The water has returned to the fresco on the wall.

We lie at the bottom of an empty valley.
You are all I have: my reward and punishment.

The night is opening like a black tulip.
You, a church among the rocks, a fortress.

I see just your two bells and nothing more,
two shells in a net, two dreams—nightmares.

Like a black tulip the black night opens.
Atop the white bells, two seeds of copper.

Toll, toll, toll with a netherworldly din.
We are trapped, song, in the first sin.

The fire is going out, sight is fading.
In the fresco on the wall, stone-still the embroidery.