after a stormy night during which gods
from the machines failed to appear
I wait for the dawn by the monastery
a crow walks through the yard in razor-creased
grey pants
the morning is hopelessly dark
and the only sensible thing seems the belief
that it is possible
to study really carefully the language
that the crow and the Evening Star,
hidden beyond the grey shroud,
teach each other paying special attention
to accents and syllable lengths
EN 
MK