The Infant

An accursed year, we think

But how can I weep?

Today I died and lived again

Forgiveness — what a sweet injustice!

Indeed, a fearful, bloody, putrid year.

But how can I bleed more?

It’s all a sign.

It’s all a test.

It’s a smelting fire.

A Blacksmith’s hammer beat.

An infant’s heart and lungs.

This great nation of humans

Look! We are talking to each other

We love to talk and we hate company

This great nation of humans.

The soul bad for body

And body bad for soul.