A third comes near, arms outstreched, head bent on one side.
His face I know from an echo of my memory from my past.
He assumes an attitude of prayer and from his dark eyes
flood episodes from my past, desires, delights, my torment soar.
He takes my hand and moves it in the sign of the cross
Terrified but appeased, anguished well being takes control of what little
is still in me.
Is this the sign they'll take me to god the maker ?
The beings vanished into the gloom one by one.
In the blink of an eye I am cattied into the sky.
Shaping my hands into the cross that might bring me to god.

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