What woman has a country?

    What woman has a country? Always she's the alien in a male nation,
    papers disheveled, visa date blurred, her strategies for sanctuary
    require that she barter self for place within the borders or else,
    misfit, illegal, grow lean upon her loneliness, a susurrus of shadow
    at the limits. Where has she journeyed from, she dispossessed of all
    hands hold, companioned only by the fair wind of memory?--in desert
    quiet a windmill's piston creaks to prophecy the small cry of water
    in the dust, or the duet of a raven echoing its martinal voice and
    shadow on river, on canyon wall.