I found you following your rage, dear Angela--
your silent sobs still coaxing
your slumping form to motion;
exhausted, lips awash with
tears and broken panes of glass
to threaten your bare feet...
Come rest your damp head upon my
chest, for I know your untamed heart.
Know now, my girl, that I knew your
spirit before the world burst to drown you
with worry and useless detail's toll;
and before religion frightened
you with the falsehood of the
fragility of the human soul.
Take comfort beside me here, draped in your
goldenrod crepe, and see how the coming days will
show you to caress each fang and saber like keys--
let each pang cry a sorrowed note through zealots'
mouths for the world they'll soon lose, so that your
long-hidden grief may find ear and long-sought ease.