Old experiments from Masters project.
Jokanaan and the poetry-film
Supple as serpents, light as birds,
Wilt thou be the sun, and I thy queen?
Gilded eyelids where dragons dwell, lakes troubled by fantastic moons.
Flower of the valley, I will not look at thee.
Sun or king, I cannot be…
Thy voice is wine to me
The desert blossoming like the rose.
The centaurs have hidden themselves in rivers,
And the nymphs are lying beneath the forest leaves.
I hear the beating of wings…
It is your mouth that I desire.
The shores of the Dead Sea became visible.
The sun shall become black like sackcloth of hair,
And the moon shall become like blood,
I will kiss your mouth Scatter the remains of your bodies.