her being a goddess once more?
She shines in gold, but
modest blush of her maker.
He falls into her soul, as only he could,
revels in soft layers of cool;
Her word unspoken, her fullness
quiet in shimmering grace-
Born again, as she dances.
Her silver veils fall away,
the cold mists, so exquisitely dark,
does she remember?
Mourning came, morning went forth
from behind shades of pastel,
from the nights of shadows awake,
sprawled and arched in dust.
She was once so wide
she folded up to the stars,
a silent maid, behold!
The kings of celestial court
warred to distant stalemate,
'til the night wind burned with fire.
Endless courts, endless watercolor palette-
One sky of her own, one sky not,
she flees them both- her fate-
The dark dance of years suspended,
illuminated in tossed shadows-
her hourglass.
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