Psalm 9

 O rose beyond the reach of time and of the senses
O kiss enveloped in the scarves of all the winds
surprise me with one dream 
that my madness will recoil from you 
Recoiling from you
In order to approach you 
I discovered time
Approaching you
in order to recoil form you
I discovered my senses
Between approach and recoil
there is a stone the size of a dream
It does not approach
It does not recoil
You are my country
A stone is not what I am 
therefor I do not like to face the sky 
not do I die level with the ground
but I am a stranger, always a stranger

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