My flesh is drawn by the moon - there is a liquid that moves along the tubes and cisterns of my body, rushing with the sound of footsteps, warmed by the sun, colouring my extremities where they are exposed and naked. I move by the moon, and I follow the sun's course; I am a circle that turns to the wide horizon, and my eyes are blinded; I am still and rooted, I am quick and quivering, but I bear no figs. I bear no figs, and I will be burned with fire - I will be cut down, felled by the thrust of the passing of moments. Let the floods clap their hands: let the hills be joyful together. I bear no figs, and my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned in the hearth of your leaving. The moon and the sun weave silent over the smoke of this sacrifice. Selah.
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