Apterous woman, foolish heart
Brace yourself, my heart, for that thing which you must do.
A dark, destructive song rolls across delicate wings
as birds of sorrow circle endlessly overhead.
If only you could fly away.
And what a wretched creature am I,
a woman who feeds the flames of anguish
just to watch the sky catch fire. Tears of ruth will fall as ash
and there will be nothing left of me but smoke.
The shape of dreams, the tracing of souls,
are reflections in the dark. Sometimes, late at night
I see you there and when you come back, even as shadow,
I will still be a foolish woman.