In that year of our Lord,

we did not stint on bread
or fat; neither did we spare
any longer the change
we figured would rust
if steeped too long
in the gourd— Signs
were read, the skies
festooned with meteor
showers; for the first
time we drank our thirst—
In the long cool nights,
surrendered to whatever
it was that went as fate.

 

In response to Via Negativa: First day of spring.

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