My Beloved Lizzie
Can you see me, Lizzie?
She is out there, Miriam, under the trees, beneath the laughing moon, dancing a dance of devils I have never seen nor wish to see again. Her arms wave and her hips sway in a lascivious way. I would think she wanted me, but she hardly knows I’m here. I’m an object in her house. Something to step round. But she beckons to someone, some man I reckon, as if she tries to enchant him her way. She laughs, babbling, delirious. She speaks in tongues and gibberish escapes her lips. I do not know how she spins and spins like a child’s toy without falling, falling, like London Bridge during the plague years, yet there she is, upright and joyous. I watch her through the doorway, or what should be a doorway since tis merely a slab of wood I drag before the ope
