My ears hear everything at night.
My eyes see everything during day.
I could not tell who entered my tent
through the evening smoke-hole and stood
with his legs, an arrow's width apart.
Then I saw a man.
Sky blue. Even his nose.
Maybe he was a cloud.
In his hand, several wolfskins tied
with a silk rope.
He said: From the water of your waters
will grow a nation. Four sons
with the strength of a wolf pack
He placed a bundle in my lap.
When I awoke, it was my head's soft pillow.
Then I knew Temujin would come.
Who else could be the father of such men?
Part of me wanted daughters to braid my hair,
to brew tea
when news of the tangled grass
reached my ears.
Piles of dead trees like rotting bodies.
I am not prepared.