In each fist I hold a stone.
I open my left hand and let the stone drop.
It is white but in its descent
Turns three times, changing to black.
I open my right hand and let the stone drop.
It is black but in its descent
Turns naught, remaining black.
Before they strike the ground, each transforms into a bird.
The left stone a raven, the right stone a dove.
The raven is the color of sunlight.
The dove is the color of the midnight sky.
Each flies to alight on my face; each plucks out an eye.
Having been Cassandra, I now walk as Tiresias.
Though I had never struck serpents
Nor foolishly judged a heavenly duel
Nor even glimpsed an owl unfeathered,
I am blinded and transformed
Yet still possess the unfortunate gift granted me originally:
I speak true words but am not heeded,
My voice lost beneath the mocking laughter from the sky.
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