Written by little g.
Some nights she dreams of innocence,
a child’s garment, homespun,
a state of mind absent experience.
She pictures a grid drawn over white linen,
more or less in focus
depending on proximity;
the more experienced, the less innocent.
Still she finds herself within the pictures,
the dreams woven of her own person,
then the living day.
Some nights she is with child again.
There is no man in the house.
She wakes young and foolish,