Is the little bird torn apart 
by a paw? Lights switch on, at least 
one juxtaposition between 

Somehow I know, I know these things,
such as when I will have a shepherd’s
bad luck, forever the same horrible creed
of a hunter, and my heart starts to bleed.

You are my flower, my lips, my heaven.
Embrace in your glance the seven grains.
I bear them, until I collapse.