I buried everything you gave me
In the orchard.

Then I let the silence
Come on like a good drug.

Already, the gunships loom.
Now the swallows

Come to me in sleep. And a boy
Whispers of Saint Francis and the wolf

He broke. In the sanitarium, some Christian brothers
Come offering solace.

But my heart is the smallest
Catafalque. Always,

I was such a strange sort of
Princess. Hiding in the horseweed with my crosses,

Yellow-haired and feral in the woods.
Now, neither birds nor the sea can save me.

Set me in the field and let the stars
Have their way.