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"What will you conceive in me?"-
I asked her.  But she
only smiled.

"Naked, I bore your child
when the wolf wind howled,
when the cold moon scowled . . .

naked, and gladly."
"What will become of me?"-
I asked her, as she

absently stroked my hand.
Centuries later, I understand;
she whispered-"I Am."