History’s an odd friend, though a true one.

All the way here, you’ve felt her hand on your back.

Now she takes it away: This you must face on your own.

 

History’s been smothered before. You know that.

The disgraced co-emperor, God’s ex-wife — 

They were sanded away, but not deeply enough.

 

History’s been stolen, bought and sold.

You know that too. But you know that she keeps the accounts.

You know where you must stand in that agora.

 

History repeats herself. That’s the point.

She stretches out her hand once more

To take your pulse and fold it into hers.