Grand lady, now, regal she came down
from the reeling stars, fine jewelry from a cheap vortex.
She closed her fist in the hole of a hungry heart.
A nod of her head and the earth ceased its tilting.
A graceful cast of her glance melted the storms into lambs.
Her feet, not dainty, but gentle, walked the path.
She pulled the moon down to to scorch the nagging shadows,
with waving silver and seas of dreams.
She did not pause at the crossroads,
but walked into the wild woods,
straying from an unfinished map of parched madness.
Surely she dreams greater tales to tell,
and knows where she must go to tell them well.

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