It began then, during the ten wet nights
of red crabs clawing at the moon,
a nymph that had just drowned
in a maelstrom; the haunted moisture
collected around a skeleton the lemon tree 
was betrothed to when, near the fungus 
covered mud, I saw the air rising 
with such madness above the ferns; 
I could’ve sworn I heard 
something, a ship distant under 
the realm of a terrible solitude.
Is that all? I thought to myself, life
Eclipsed by the so called human condition,
So many blanched almonds cowering 
against a dystopian cauldron! 

It’s my cross to bear, she said,
it’s my cross.