for barriers, like
the vines that tangle
over her front door,
or her hair strands
snarling and weaving
a mask nobody
can quite see thru.
Her words seem like
beacons but their
brightness disarms
you like someone
naked under the
wildest glare
blinding you in
ways you never
realize a mask she
puts on and
can do what she
chooses behind,
barbs, quills that
seem impossible to
touch, you can’t
see her shiver
under them
wounded on the
side of the road