the old woman waits / beside the olives’ gate / she’d just unlocked – /
wrought railings / in the hollow lane / facing the revetment – /
slowed by the age / that greyed her hair / and lined her face, /
that thinned her bones / thickened her waist / and claimed her breasts: /
one of the last 200 here / she speaks to welcome / two passing wraiths /
who had been rooted / once in ground like hers / but now roam across tomorrow.