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The storm had golden hair flecked with black

and moaned in a monotone, like a simple woman

giving birth to a future soldier, or a tyrant.

Vast clouds, multi-storied ships

surrounded us, and lightning's scarlet strands

scattered nervously.

The highway became the Red Sea.

We moved through the storm like a sheer valley. You drove; I lookedat you with love.

By adam zagajewski; Translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh