I Prefer To Have Some Beliefs That

We Started Dying Before The Snow, And Like The Snow, We Continued To Fall.

Our Tribe Unraveled Like A Coarse Rope, Frayed At Either End As The Old And New Among Us Were Taken.

I Got Well By Talking. Death Could Not Get A Word In Edgewise, Grew Discouraged, And Traveled On.

I Prefer To Have Some Beliefs That Don't Make Logical Sense.

I Did Not Choose Solitude. Who Would? It Came On Me Like A Kind Of Vocation, Demanding An Effort That Married Women Can't Picture.