The mountain, light-blue at the distance, rolls down
to the sea;
two horses rest in the shade of the church building;
the endless day vanishes in its light.
When you clapped your hands five birds flew away
from the trees;
you looked at them and forgot why you clapped:
perhaps in despair or was it perhaps a lone
clap for what you didn’t know?
Then, looking for what was to follow, you didn’t clap
again. Therefore is death so natural?