David Norris writes

The Crazy Woman

I saw her sleeping
one night, bundled in rags
in the recess of
a storefront's shadow. I
was afraid of her
at that moment, bags and
bags of mystery.

Nobody knows where
she does what she does.
Bundles of rags, she
walks alone, always
alone, bags and bags

walks alone
head full of
mysteries. 


Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Dulle Griet  (detail)