As I write my last public address (Do give us a hand, please) I am clenching my breasts in my palms
I recall my early youth
Sometimes the light is born within me
Very noticeable
More fervent than the dawn of time, priests would say
Mostly I feel the night inside me
riddled with bullets and bloody wolf hunts,
FERRO ET IGNI
I adore the deos until after their ouster
They aim for my life, appear to me with claws and marks
Through dubious astrological trials.