| Parnassus mad ward for libby
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First day she hid in bed under the covers. Then tried to climb up the wall. On the third day she was telling a parable: "there was a dead dog on a road. Rotting. Everyone thought it ugly. But Christ said, "Its teeth, they are beautiful."' Overcast Thursday, in the garden she was picking flowers. 'I like pansies,' she said, 'my friends. They have faces.' Pressed one between the pages of her sculpture book. It rained, we sat on a bench beneath a maple whose starfish leaves swam in watery afternoon. Wet grassblades green day everything green the absolutest colour. Speaking later of Heine wondering within myself how if poets become mad there continues to be such colour and how if gods shall have been discredited forgotten there can still be innocents there can still be love.
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