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Bruno Schulz

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The moon was still high. The sky’s transformations—the metamorphoses of its multitudinous vaults in ever more masterfully described configurations—were unending. Like a silver astrolabe, the sky had opened up that night its bewitching internal mechanism, exhibiting in endless cycles the gilded mathematics of its cogs and wheels.
--
“The Cinnamon Shops”

 
Bruno Schulz

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Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon.

 
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A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
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And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light.
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.

 
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