The Water Mill

Stone and water: millstone and water water mill. How many times has it turned the hard stone with the soft water, how many more times will it turn this stone with this water? How many more hard grains will grow soft from this turning? How many more loaves will be baked, how many more times will the oven be lit? Will this stone be so fortunate as to turn again with this water? In the city of the giant a crane stacks up the sections of a great wall. Somewhere underground they are building a prison. In the city of the giant a spy hunts for a spy. Goods pound on the heads of goods. In the city of the giant the swastika breaks the skull, and takes from humans the chance to think of God. You were nothing but water I was nothing but stone on the outskirts of the city of the giant imprisoned wounded by the cross and far, far from the muddled tale of that city. Will I be so fortunate that among all the turnings I turn again in your water? And again listen to the soft sound of the white particles that pour down into the empty sack ? And again here, behind my forehead, the bud of a red rose open? Each time is forever. And forever lies hidden in each time. Eternity: in the moment. And will I be so fortunate that again forever, forever, I carry your red rose in my skull and turn whirl and dance to the music of your river a music that makes of hard stone a water mill with the scent of bread the scent of morning and the spread table in our text, on the far margin, far from the bitter tale of this city. Bring firewood and light the cold oven forever forever for I will be nothing forever but this stone and you will be nothing forever but this water ...