People die for what they say - a sacrifice

I would say.

 

Promises unfulfilled in darkrooms

 

my pen massages,

carefully and lovingly

the waiting page.

 

She is everywoman: sacrifice, laughter, death.

 

U kip I kip we all kip

 

running saved her life

she is all giving

 

the painting of the dog, howling

 

she is all-giving, all-taking, all-loving

crying in vain

taking it all away

 

secret bookshop

in the pages of time:

How often has my spirit turned to thee!