Lucille Gang Shulklapper          What Will They Say About My Poetry     Who Never Touched My Blood?                                    Title after Neruda     I live in hiding a fugitive from myself hunted by thieves of nightmares haunted by reapers of dreams. Sometimes I live in jungles in the buried towns and villages of my soul. The doors to my poems swing open in the harnessed breeze,  slam closed to the howling squall. I glimpse innocence through the eyes of a child, long to pet the lion in his cage. If you look  through my eyes, you might see me carry pale roses with thorns swim in deep rivers where others drown imagine loneliness clothed in love  find myself.