Ravel

calmly,

she was washing death out of her hands

carefully

in her eyes, a splinter

cleaved her lightness into half

the miracle of resurgence was belated

she had fasted

and sheltered

for a snake-hole worthy sexton’s fist of clay

in which

humble

senile

her furrow was bargaining

on the last slice of the dawn

17^th April 2018, Constanta, Romania

(translated from ”Capăt de ață”)