Whose soft cries are heard
in the cathedral of evening?
The sound of dumb sheep bleating
in the fields, the sound of water
falling from its source. In this
religion, the barbarous cracking
of sky, the shape of shadows that
burden our hearts, the terrible globe
of moon who wears its light as if
it were not stolen, the faithful carry
their grief in the folds of their hands.
Then God, like a mighty wolf in the night
hunts down the sinner.

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