My coat on the needled rack
And my heart on hold.
I spent a day and night rolling in circles
Slept through the dawn and into afternoon
I shivered and shook in my isolation
Self-imposed exile to my sheets.
I hover over a little kitchen garden I've made.
Wring my hands and pick my clothes
Chatter my teeth waiting for a sign of life.
For some divine assurance that it's not my fault.
That it was simply circumstance,
That brought my twisted proxies to their end.
That now that I'm happier, more free
I'll be able to grow pansies again.
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