In the structure of her device,
She randoms the thought;
She notions the certainty
Of what is, or is not,
Or what can never be.
In the rooms of her paradise,
She heavens yet another place.
She homes in her creation,
And limits the space,
To what she can imagine.
At the alter of her sacrifice–
Memories of bone
Shadow old dangers,
Known and unknown.
The voices of strangers.
Summer 1984