The weary priestess

To this day
I can see her the way she was then

Woman
White shirt
Black skirt
Light in a nimbus around her
Words
She speaks slowly
Like the sound of a train coming
Or water
Forced from it’s ordinary place
By volcanic unrest

I watch her
From an electronic distance
And although
Her words are muted
By time itself and my failing
Memory

I know how to find them
In the book she wrote

I remind myself
That prophets tell us
Water is rising
Before the dams all break

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