Fate terrifies me to death,
and I do not oppress the poor man.
I am weary from under heaven;
The horror of heaven.
I who undertake to kill
The complete daylight with abandon
And all I need to cut to leave light.
Behold fire, my incense pyre.
And I (shock, shall astonish, will declare)
Drive off the altar, to put the consecration
Of water into wine, and into his blood.
This is not a shame, my sister.
Further, in some marble chapel in my former house,
He is glorified and we put two bowls of snow in there
The day of the Feast of the Increase,
And the trees shall be filled with wool. Swift.
Hence, I heard a voice from far away call.
What can I say - the voice seems that man’s.
From here, hear. Hear from afar the call.
My words call upon, summon, call him:
So appear, husband!
This is the night. This night, when the land
keeps shadows, I will stand friendless on the roof.
The owl song partitions; often complains,
and the song has come to pass.
Cry out: roll; for punishment from a previous
Prediction. This frightful command [smiths will
Mint new coinage] drives me wilder. I rave.
The men of Wilder. In patria fureret.
Aeneas dreams. I was left alone for a long time.
Until this present day, even. However, unaccompanied
I will appear in the pass at the entrance of the deserter.
He left the woman of Tyre and Carthage.
Alyssia MacAlister has a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Durham. Alyssia writes poetry, prose and non-fiction and is nurturing a found-text poetry project with the working title Proper Gander. When she’s not cutting up newspapers, Alyssia spends most of her time reading trauma theory research and saving insects from life-threating situations. Contact at firstname.lastname@example.org