she's like shifting storm clouds
moving with purposeful steps
never great assuming strides
her feet are too small for that
in shades of undulating grey so deep
it makes the almost white seem like a smile
but we know that's only a passing cover
until the match is struck from unseen gods
and it's all she can do to stand in the flames



she's picking up strewn tuberose
as she moves across the marble
petals fading in the shadows
bowed heads for bent faith
the scent of burning trust lingering
barely discernable in the ash
its all on fire again
her house of hope set ablaze
pillars of billowing darkness
from a tower of stained glass



through all the flames and all the smoke
silence dancing across coals and embers
there's a stirring of wings
beneath the rubble of what was
aching to race into another possible
maybe the fire can rebirth the storm
and fill a garden anew again

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