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Poem	You are not beaten. The simple music rises up, children's voices in the air, sound floating out across the land and on to the river beyond, over the valley's floor. No, you cannot go back for those things you lost, the parts of yourself that were taken, often by force. Like an animal in the forest you must weep it all away at once, violently, and then simply live on. The music here is Bach, Vivaldi; a chorale of children, a piano, a violin. Together, they have a certain spirit that is light, that lets in light, joyful, ecstatic. "Forgive," said The Christ, and why not? Every day that you still breathe has all the joy and murderous possibilities of your bravest dream. Forgive. Breathe. Live. The moon has entered Virgo, the wind shifts, blows up from the Delta, cools this valley, and you are not beaten; the children sing, it is Bach, and you are brave, alive, and human.
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