Wherever you are I can reach you

to summon up—or send you back again!

Yet I’m no sorceress. My eyes grew sharp

in the white book—of that far-off river Don.

From the height of my cedar I see a world

where court decisions float, and all lights wander.

Yet from here I can turn the whole sea upside down

to bring you from its depths—or send you under!

You can’t resist me, since I’m everywhere:

at daylight, underground, in breath and bread.

I’m always present. That is how I shall procure

your lips—as God will surely claim your soul—

in your last breath—and even in that choking hour

I’ll be there, at the great Archangel’s fence,

to put these bloodied lips up against the thorns

of Judgement—and to snatch you from your bier!

Give in! You must. This is no fairytale.

Give in! Any arrow will fall back on you.

Give in! Don’t you know no one escapes

the power of creatures reaching out with

breath alone? (That’s how I soar up

with my eyes shut and mica round my mouth …)

Careful, the prophetess tricked Samuel.

Perhaps I’ll hoodwink you. Return alone,

because another girl is with you. Now on Judgement Day

there’ll be no litigation. So till then

I’ll go on wandering.

And yet I’ll have your soul

as an alchemist knows how to win your

Lips …