Crazy Jane



Limits are made
from this side;
the doorstep
the edge of the encounter;
the lintels and the jambs
of rough-cut wood.
Out on the field
the gate hangs awkward
and the path goes onward.
Behind the mirror
and the limewash
is the stone
still weathered
from the field,
and lime and earth
and hair.
A place to live,
it is enough;
reckoned wisely,
it is enough.




The Muffled Drum