''Prison Wife''.
''She has let out her sweetness, stitch by stitch,
or plume by plume.
She has stuck herself with thistle, proved
her skin's pliable canvas.
She has disappeared and frothed, plucked the fox tail
from the fur.
She has whipped the main roar and hummed to horn trapper.
Met with hoof, claw, red lashing.
Met with carnage, fist, butchery.
What would he have done without all her divination?
What could she have done with all that sorcery for herself?''