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I was born.
My mother, pale and a witch,
Knelt down and watched me drop
through space and blackness,
a meteor fallen from tumultuous dreams.

No thing was incorporeal that day
Not the air, turned to flesh.
Nor time
Which I carried like a lamb in my arms
Like a bird in my mouth.

I recognize myself now
Only by my eyes
Dark as the inside of a stone
And my heart
Small and cold as a winter olive.

For I have never loved
But been loved by strangers
When, insensible with kisses,
They drowned in one another's mouths
And dreamed THEY were the god.

"glo-po" 2001