Our play attempts to take up residence within the solitude of our greatest poet. This time the 4th wall is absolute. You can see her, but for her you are never here. (And at no time can the actress playing Emily show any awareness of an audience.) This is a play about what happens inside a mind when no We is any longer present. As such it is, of course, opposed to the contemporary dogma that all is public—even our deepest inwardness. Such is the primary contemporary dogma whereby the tragic is denied, avoided, exorcised. For Emily Dickinson the opposite was the only worthy pursuit. Thus, here solitude remains inviolate, unbroken, sovereign—in keen and quivering ratio of ecstasy-anguish— and sumptuous despair. The entire play takes place inside her head—voicing that a concession to theatrical representation. Many stories are told of the life Emily Dickinson. But none about what happened in a room alone at night when there were only words—and her intractable will engaged in a drama where psyche, poetry, sexuality are identical.