Sexton, Anne. (I forget the poem title.)

Dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
Over the plain houses, light by light.
Lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

(I don't get any of the religious stuff* in her poems, and I don't feel the rhythm or imagery in quite a lot of them, but when something she wrote resonates w/ me, I am as a struck bell.)

* I had a completely irreligious upbringing, which has its advantages, but also, a lot of art seems flat or is just inaccessible to me.