The Roman road leads down along matrimonial chandeliers. A cry out of woman's flesh calls in the clock. Violet-colored philistines go to bed in the deep houses, they hear the pig, the hens, the train, the mouse. The darkness dawns with quick sensual pupils. The bridal veil flies away with the chimney's breath.
Blue donkeys run on the moonlit roofs.
Saints take off in a cloud from whitewashed churches, with blood-soaked lambs they welcome the bridal veil. Leopards gaze with amber eyes from the doorsteps. And any intrusion of allegory here is pointless. In those days of sincerity, it seems, moral standards were a more valid measure. Much more than the scales of mind.