Of the bitter root
There is a bitter root
and a world of a thousand terraces.
Not even the smallest hand
can break the water-door.
Where are you going, where, where?
There is a sky with a thousand windows -
a battle of livid bees -
and there is a bitter root.
Bitter.
The sole of the foot hurts,
it hurts inside the face
and in the cool trunk
of freshly-cut night.
Love, my enemy,
bite your bitter root!
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| 1914 with youngest sister, Isabel |