I Sewed Together

In the mist nobody writes out by hand like signs. But you are walking along some roads with the thought which knows only and solely itself. And the loneliness lifts a mountain. And our bodies are too heavy to us. How nobody flings open his arms till the end – for an embrace and again at the end he dies – crucified. And like signs somebody has written out in fire: “Mene, Mene, Tekel u-Pharsin” The born of dust - weighted out and separated. I sewed together a sackcloth* of my skin, to be at ease. *Jews and other nations used to wear sackcloth around their waists at the time of misery, penance and sorrow.