joins itself
to the loosened mind, the the black-
berries and thistles, running in a
thorny wind
over the shallow
foundations of our former houses,
dim hollows now in the sandy soil
Did I spend all those years
building up this edifice
my composite
self, this crumbling hovel?
My arms, my eyes, my grieving
words, my disintegrated children
Everywhere I walk, along
the overgrown paths, my skirt
tugged at by the spreading briers
