LXXVI
IN GOD’S HAND

Lord, when you bless us with the kiss
which stops our breath, your kiss of death,
our heart is weighed down by the heavy
pressure of your strong right hand.

And in your left hand, oppressed
by its weight, our head returns
to its eternal sleep, still struggling
to reach you as its anxiety is quenched.

Place my heart on your breast,
as though it were resting in a cradle
far from the stormy sea of passions,

while my mind, free from the weight
of thought—the source of illusions—
sleeps in the sun in your powerful hand.