And the just man trailed God’s shining agent,
over a black mountain, in his giant track,
while a relentless voice kept harrying his woman:
“It’s not too late, you can still look back

at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed
at the empty windows set in the tall house
where sons and daughters blessed your marriage bed.”

A single glance: a sudden dart of pain
stitching her eyes before she made a sound . . .
Her body flaked into transparent salt,
and her swift legs rooted to the ground.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem
too insignificant for your concern?
Yet in my heart I never will deny her,
who suffered death because she chose to turn.

translated by Stanley Kunitz & Max Hayward