"My purpose is to burn everything, to leave nothing but what is essential"
Louis Marie Turreau of the Infernal Columns
She threads, she snips, she sews
they come to her, the tricoteuse
Dantonists, Girondins, Jacobins
a shuffling line, heads in their hands,
white faced, rouged cheeks like clowns
and moonlight rippling over flowing gowns
as if woven from water,
their mouths move but no words rose
She nods,
she threads, she snips, she sews
