Belief

The groove stinks, putrid morass covers the steep walls

On the slick floor the body does not find ease

The few leaves of cabbage and mildewed slices barely fill the stomach

only briefly the sun shines down into the depth

if they don't cover it with the trap door

and bare their teeth cruelly

But he does not give up

The hands folded the eyes closed

his lips say a short prayer

No begging

No doubts

his heart full of faith

In the dawn a dove flies off

The man is dead.