the angel
three years we waited
kept watch with baited breath:
the pines, the shore and the stars
sharing the blade with the plough or the keel with the ship
we searched again for the very first seed
so that the ancient drame could repeat its play
we returned to our homes, defeated
limbs weary and lips cracked
and with the aftertaste of rust and brine
hardly awake we went north
strangers plunged into fog and wounded
by the spotless wings of swans
on winter nights the wild wind from the east
drove us insane
in summer we were lost in the torment of days
that could not lie
together in smple penance
we brought back
these carvings of a humble art
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