Today in the ruins, we found a child still alive
with white hair, like that of an ancient woman,
growing out of her chest as if rooted in her heart,
as if it had lanced
through bone and flesh to hang limply
against her belly.

The child was not breathing but her eyes rolled back and forth
among us when we gathered around,
catching us all in the moment of wonder.

When she finally exhaled, the hair rose and waved
like kelp in a current, and we knew at once
(without being able to explain how we knew)
of the sea of age within her, informing her gaze.

We are resting now, with the child saying nothing
as she sits upon her mat by the fireside.

It is two days travel back to base.  Tomorrow
we will begin the journey, leaving a small crew behind
to keep watch on the ruins; perhaps
there are others?

The men are arguing about who will stay behind
for this.  All are eager.  Strangely so…
as if the notion of a sage intelligence
that might be watching for us from the wreckage
has seized them all.

I have been staring back into
the child’s eyes.  She has told me
nothing, no hint of origin, no explanation
for the thread of history she carries.
There is something obviously important
in the way she holds herself,
but none of us can quite explain
what we are feeling.

I have decided that we will delay our return until we are certain
there is nothing more to be learned here.

More, I think, later.