First Words
Let the stars of its dawn be dark; let it hope for light, but have none, nor see the eyelids of the morning…
—Job 3:9
How pregnant was the night
that it began to curse?
What words shattered
the holiness that follows birth
while my blood mingled with the earth?
A living witness remains,
yet I cannot reach back
to seize the prophetic chords.
Did they warmly speak “Well done,”
or spit “Depart” and blind the sun?
I think the dark longed in vain
for a misbegotten dawn.
I wish the day had slumbered on and on:
my eyes continued undisturbed,
my first words never heard.