Moccasin slippers
tip toe down
a silent corridor

finds an angel weeping
at a closed door

she lived off crumbs
walked a million miles through flame and volcanic rock

tornado in her voice
hungry man sobbing
in her eyes

she still likes to watch butterflies
at the Park, downtown

hoping one day her love
will come back with the keys

she needs to open it
before solitary madness
repeats old tapes

and the shrewd air
is screaming back
at her

punishing her
for being innocent.