on the track from Sunj

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.

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