A shred of handkerchief
like a fish in my fist.
. . . shall we go? . . . which way are you going?
(The train tracks, poison, a bullet, who knows.


Death.) . . . I have no plans.
. . . life!  Like a Roman commander,
An eagle-eyed glance at the remnant
of his troops.
                      . . . well then, goodbye.


-Marina Tsvetayeva, from The Daughter of Jairus




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