Inspired by her poem Bravery Bent Over Blank Pages
Beneath her gentle gaze, there is a suspicion of wings,
a sudden flutter of silk, the slightest sound of bark
dropping into a bed of leaves colored and crisped by Autumn.
Her eyes hold undiscovered worlds within them,
nurturing their songs, painting tales of now and then.
Her fingers sooth as they stitch wounds together,
moving swiftly so discomfort cannot linger overlong —
she hums as she weaves, discerning patience from pain.
When she thought no one was looking,
I saw her exchange knowing glances with butterflies,
their stained-glass smiles divining and separating rays of light,
their antennas interpreting murmurs and silence.
She understands we only wear these sheaths of skin
as an attempt to contain the chaotic energy of our souls,
those wild-sprite neurons and electrons which would soar
for a million miles, returning in an instant, barely missed.
We speak of an oncoming decade when first we met,
moments when we learned each other's languages,
although epochs have kept us close enough
so our lithe hands might offer ancient rose petals to each other
as we passed upon bridges between us, currents moving below.
Drifting, we gather stones and herbs together, yet apart,
their healing fires and fragrances melded under a quiet moon
we both kneel under, solemn and joyous;
time is merely an illusion, a metronome of rhythm,
for we are not standing below this furrowed sky —
we move within it, our cloud-dances experienced, adept and wise.
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