Devoured by the crazy of my own-times,
I did not hear her or the others.
Screaming into rain and snow I froze
in my asylum. Blank walled
but for mad replays of my debt to sanity.
She embroidered letters to a future lost,
sewn in wild hope-coloured samplers.
Water lilies cast adrift on wishes
while her spirit burned at the stake for
speaking, writing, feeling, expectation
beyond know-your-place restraint.
Writing on the backs of burned-out bills,
my echoes join the price of anger.
