Sibyl: burnt out, sibyl: stump.

All birds perished, but a god has come.

Sibyl: drunk up, sibyl: waste.

All veins shriveled: now the zealot prays!

Sibyl: has-been, sybil: gape

Of fate and ruin! — Ancient tree among maids.

A sovereign tree in the naked wood —

At first, fire crackled as timber should.

Then under the eyelids — rushed and stunned,

Through dried-up rivers a god blazed in.

And, swiftly despairing of outside help:

With heart and voice fallen: in myself!

Sibyl: all-seeing! Sibyl: vault!

Annunciation was done in that

Unageing hour, when grass went gray,

And fleeting maidenhood became a cave

For wondrous voice…

                                — Whirwind of stars:

The sibyl from this life departs.

    – Marina Tsvetaeva, from "The Sibyl"

      (Translation by Alyssa Dinega Gillespie)

This poem appears in Vega's Fugitive, translated by Alyssa Dinega Gillespie, forthcoming from Northwestern University Press in October 2026.