The sleep talking woman
Found herself irregularly struck
By the wind’s unintelligible mumble
She grasped the zenith
And took in the stars
Trying to break what no man in white could break
By fist, bite, swear
Or even love
Marshy weather rumbling
In this ceremonious August walk
She took that day to the sea
Deep in the waters she found a piece of her
Destined vow to the drowned
She was a lighthouse for lost sailors
A siren in a constellation
Waving her 12 feet long hair
Like another feet wipe
Clenched fingers through the damp earth
Dug shells and silicon sands
To cover her body entirely
In normality
Milk bursting from her breasts
Fed the creeping beasts around
She was unwedded and unloved
She was alert and waiting
She was the virgin in the ward.