A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly
With no attachments, like a feotus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised.
Leave her alone now.