And then I died
by burn of rope
and lack of air
in my lungs desperately croaking for a breath.
The gate I opened
by my severed neck
was like passage due to cutting of a flower's head.
And then I flew - or did I flee? - to hyacinths long passed
of lost souls
just like mine,
finding me a redbud tree to climb.
So then I reached the tree with all its branches;
it was no soul in sight, only imagines
of you and I,
of you and I,
of you...
... And I besought then the noose I gathered,
and then I in my dreamt up damnation died.