  :A.poem- 12/21/03 She; Shut in her hermitage With crinkled mouth grins, And , Coal black eyes, cold, Cold, for nights return, Turns, Or rather makes, men Into ghosts, into sprits that Haunt, Like forests filled for Future deaths, graveyards even. And Her leaves turn like witches Mass, or a Sufi orgy of prayer. Blank, Promises, glances, answers And hope all into those ghosts, Like Morals. Forever. Haunting The one they left alone. 
