They would whisper the names of the dead into the woods as they hunted
They would harvest wheat in open carts except on sundays
They would hope for male newborns while swinging axe and hoe
They would listen to the wind in high leaves as when they were young
They would sing praises to the gods upon dead meat
They would have sex into beds in winter and sex into fields in summer
They would fear and they would fear not, they would love early for the knot
They would be like coarse grain in a bushel, like refined musk on a handkerchief
They would understand a hundredth and tell the story to themselves
Until we eventually get it straight in our books. They would until they could,
A part trying in the dark, a part trying to call further, a part talking to us.
Image credit : George Hoyningen-Huene Untitled, 1936-1938
Frédéric Benqué 