The man comes back from the holy river
Where he renounced a certain vegetable
The bitter one had always tasted terrible.
(Please leave behind here for your dead
All you consider dearest to your bosom,
Said the muttering priest of an ice river.)
We say return from a river purely bathed
After you have done your hanging thing.
The naked men would come from hills
The purity not yet tested in natural sky.
(Here we write pure poetry in azure sky
About waters that washed down corpses.)
The corpses had renounced all the worlds
But their sun went on to rise regardless.
The naked men have renounced clothes
And now what to do with hanging things.
We have no tears enough to wet our eyes.
But we have genteel glycerine tears made
To stream down eyes and keep them wet.
But now what to do with hanging things