The coffin almost matches the dirt. It's an unhappy red to sleep in the soft, old clay. The 5th month, the 12th day of the month, I don't know the year, the priest stands by the river repeating a sermon, I feel like the sun breaking through the snow, impregnated with thoughts of rubies and bright, shiny things that are meaningless. Palms upward, gloomily standing and seeing all that is buried like gems, the parachutes of reality falling slowly like the freezing flakes that aren't there.
Cloudbursts, heavy droplets of fat blue rain like medicine on my protruding tongue. The Heavens open for me, it's a great fire and unbelievable brightness, inhuman torches and you should kneel. Kneeling, I hear the growl of thunderous lions and the birds grow quiet, elegant wings arch upward, the sun-scorched bodies no longer alive. Everything is burnt brass on the muddy riverside and shimmers like newborn diamonds deep in an eyeless mine no one will ever find. My sad, horrible eyes close and still see, the spirits of fire, as they see me, their wings of flame lowered and the sound of such waters, the mighty river roaring and the God of Israel is among thee.