by Max Ritvo

selected by Jean Valentine


I am brought to life surrounded by faces.

They grow stronger; the faces bear down upon me,
hardened with something,
something they expect in me too.

Soon it is me and three weeping women, all with green eyes.
The women's faces smile and then they disappear.

One tall woman is left.

I give her my milk.

There is a deeper wholeness than life
and its white tunnel of projects:

It is being forgiven
when you have done nothing.


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