Here's a little poem I thought I'd lost, tacked on to the end of notes about Hecuba and ranting, and found again while revising. It doesn't have much to do with Hecuba:

[spoken]

the leaves set sail, the earth it moves,
for the sounds of my hurt-past stripped of the ruse
of loveless patience. i have none here.
my heart has been moving this whole long year.
now it shifts through the fields so the sheathes divide
now it clashes and grates with the high spring tide
and ice which clung to the roof of my mouth
from the words unsaid, with the cool rain melts
away, as the hinges of bird-wings open
into loosened reaches of feathers, outspoken

Two years later and I've finally finished this. It hounded me for that long - not only the spectre of 12,000 words just sitting there, doing nothing, but the vitriol distilled in those pages [the quiet, slow-working poisons of resentment and self-justification]. I can finally start on the projects which excite me..

Would anyone like a copy?

The cat was almost cooing with pleasure. Deep, gutteral purrs. The little thing was lying slumped unnaturally in its own scattered feathers. I stroked her with the back of my little finger but could see she was already dead, though still warm and soft. I lifted her into my cupped hands and her head lolled sideways like a newborn's.