Loudly and Softly, Börte Keeps Temujin Alive

I am Mongol, loyal to one master. 
When that other khan

touches my cheek, it turns into a salt pond. 

Nightmares rim my eyes with darkness. 

My husband, Temujin, is a gray wolf 

who kissed my mouth.

I remember when Temujin lifted

the fringe of my silk banner

with his spear.

Now his spirit pole is gone from my tent.

I drip candle wax along the fissure of my heart,
drink warm kumis.

A woman in black sable

calls me to stand before my dream.  

Floating seeds join each other in air.
I hear them laugh.

The seed in my bowl is not his.

It doubles me.

I will slip away like the whip of a horsetail 
upon the frozen steppe. 


I was not born to die in another clan's tent.

The Blue Sky follows me between branches. 


The face of the marmot and falcon is Temujin's  
face. The birch hides my secret.