In the sunless labyrinth of the berry thicket, 10,000 thorns did kiss my flesh. I became stuck in their kisses, stuck in their hands, never to be released from their fingers again.
I became an old man in that sunlessness; I forgot my fingers, my feet, the eyes of my face, the road by which I had once arrived and the berries for which I had once came.
I am now only a heaving chest suspended in kisses, listening to the birds who sing from beyond the thicket, breathing like gods from soft throats, until one day
they, too, fall silent— they, too.