Life in Antiquity
On the morning of my birth
an Archangel came within my sight
she spoke to me
and the sand opened up beneath my mother.
The forests grew gray as I dawdled
The trees were laden with shadow
The exactitude of the brook
betrayed by late summer.
Now the winds of winter
ruffle me, and
I am childless: Guilty
in the quick darkness of the evening.
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