A voice they cry

dead flowers, and no books
on shelves packed with
math

this silence for my aloneness
was choosen

as a nun taking vows
or a circus performer
with glitter up eyes, sparkling
make up
winding down the dirt country lane
for the big, stylized world

all to learn of God, the secret
and of magic tricks
that make our universe audience
glow and tick and shine and pulse,
warming the darkness surrounding

solitary rooms in cold nights
and the absence of books,
fantasy books,
pages yellowed, binding torn
and the characters, words,
gone
fading in imagination