It is not the moon, I tell you.

I’m afraid of sickness, humiliation.Like anyone, I have my dreams.But I’ve learned to hide them,To protect myselfFrom fulfillment: all happinessAttracts the Fates’ anger.They are sisters, savages–In the end they haveNo emotion but envy.

You do so. Did you make one?Yes.It doesn’t count.

Then back to the world, polished by soft whips.We dream; we don’t remember.Machine of the family: dark fur, forests of the mother’s body.Machine of the mother: white city inside her.And before that: earth and water.Moss between rocks, pieces of leaves and grass.And before, cells in a great darkness.And before that, the veiled world.This is why…

came to the feet ofthe wise king. Two women,but only one baby.The king knewsomeone was lying.What he said wasLet the child becut in half; that wayno one will goempty-handed. Hedrew his sword.Then, of the twowomen, onerenounced her share:this wasthe sign, the lesson.Supposeyou saw your mothertorn between two daughters:what could you doto save her but bewilling…

The ecstatic reds of the roses,So that you will come to it with your lovers.And the willows–See how it has shaped these greenTents of silence. YetThere is still something you need,Your body so soft, so alive, among the stone animals.Admit that it is terrible to be like them,Beyond harm.

And weed, and soon the birds and ancientsWill be starting to arrive, bereaving pointsSouth. But never mind. It is not painful to discussHis death. I have been primed for this –For separation – for so long. But still his face assaultsMe; I can hear that car careen again, the crowd coagulate onasphaltIn my sleep. And…