where is this empty field
where no house stands for miles
only sparsely plotted trees
and forgotten furrows plead.
where is this open space
where echoes cannot live
the sun bears down on her ground
but the evening is bejeweled
I would like to stay there for a day
I would like to sleep there for a night
In delight, I shall shout
every name, of every person, of every kind
that my heart bled against
the reminders of an unguided mind
I will shout their names
shout what I screamed on paper
shout until my voice is gone
write until I run out of paper
and I shall sit on the thousands
blades of grass which will serve as my bed
and in the stillness and in the quiet
I will still shout inside my head.