The sun. Yellow and gold is the world
and all the sun’s rays are unfurled
through the silent sky, angel-sweet.
It dangles its little feet,
girls’ mouths blow golden flutes,
pursed lips let out golden hoots,
on this marble the clatter of laughter’s coins,
I sit and warm my loins.
Look at them walking turning around,
it’s like autumn on the white stone ground,
autumn with leaves dry, crackly and yellow,
angels with robes gold-woven and mellow,
on high gold fleeces extend,
while sun rushes bend,
sunny gold whistling sounds from their mouth,
they guide each other up from the south,
across my marble floor they go
in gold slippers on tiptoe.
They seem to have occupied every last space,
yellow gold wine fills this earthly place.