I imagined the return at the end of my sentence
on a street in Moscow
thinking the worse was already over.
I rushed at the gate
but something warned me.
The guards let me loose in a swamp.
What use was running to me?
I had carefully bathed,
tucked handkerchiefs in my pocket
where the children would search to find sweets.
I had no idea why everybody looked away.
The submission window for miracles closed
and I again
missed the deadline.
Illustration: Claire Palmer