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.