The Fall of Woman

Boys and men parade
Angel sets on a cold shoulder
Devil parades with the gathering
Prances with moonchildren in celebration

I, blinded justice stand
On rocky slopes and cropping
My feet bare, grip earth
My hands grip in fists

I cannot see the suitors
I only hear their braying voices
Angel warbles in unknown Gaelic tongue
Confused I back from the festive hall

I move, and choose not to choose
An loosen footing on the stone and gravel
The falling is like sleeping
And my eyes are blind,

So worried I am not.