A greasy cage, painted with chipped, faded gold,
Houses an individual whose identity is fastened by chains,
Silver chains rusty with the squeaks of a rat
Whose tail is pinched by the linked fingers.
The prisoner is taunted, with heavenly lights,
By one empty corner of the prison’s ceiling,
Partially freed to dream
Stars melting
On her skin,
Warm ice
Years ago, she had shredded and torn apart her wool blanket.
Its remains are piled in the far right corner
Collecting neglection and dust.