Under the dome

The lonely Dervish is whispering to the spirits, whistling the name of his lover, for his body is an empty tree where the winds come in and out, can the spirits remove the spell, or can they only sit with their wings flattered on the dirt thinking hopelessly of this greatest love of all.
A trial to the wisdom of spirits will be held, how it could happen that from the hell of the lord, the greatest love of all was born. The angels were puzzled since they were promised no birth is greater than the begotten son of the lord, like terrified butterflies swinging their wings around the hell of the lord, from Babylon the greatest love of all was born.
And the lonely Dervish is still there moving in circles mumbling the name of the beloved, dancing like a slaughtered bird with his head fainting on his shoulder, the world disappeared and no one but his lover exists.