Gabriel coming down the mountain, Gabriel with his face like wax. Sound of his wings, what does he bring?
He kneels like a skin full of liquid, raises his god empty eyes. The girl is sullen, the stranger is cold and inattentive for a suitor.
This is the edict from the silver city: You will raise a soldier, he will die Your arms will hold his bird-bones, they will roll Off your lap, into the ground, and his soul into the sky.
She hears him listless, her face too is waxen. The jewel of the good life passes to another girl; for a son like this, she must stitch a shroud. Outside, it is summer, December still half a year away The hay is dry, it needs rolling.