Jane revised yesterday's poem.
Some memories that were wound too tightly have sprung the doors.
The windows have lost their glass
and the wind comes and goes as it pleases.
I am opening out.
There is room inside for anything now.
Now I solemnly kiss each one that enters, leaves
even the unborn ones, the ones just passing,
the ones who can’t let go, the ones who were ruined
by an early death and the lack of a listening ear.
