***
I see the shadow of the cannibal
getting longer on the road
in the courtyard of the church
under the willows and in the nave
over the icon with his saint’s
countenance with wry mouth
his black heart throws-throws
the huge drops of venom
now upon one hundred white,
idyllic and bigoted sheep
from the lectern he mingles
with them in red garments
in his eyes bathe pastures,
deserts and plains black shaggy
dogs, swarthy, blackish shepherds
with the wind in the quilted
homespun coat and with the wrath
in their paws when the shadow
and the brimstone show themselves
on the horizon the cannibals yell
on the pews and he flaps his arms
as if he took flight to the dyed red
vaults. “Who shall warm me!
Who shall love me!” he yells long
in a tremulous sharp voice.
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