A field of mournful shams
The colors mean nothing now
She closes in the red pulse
The tendrils stinging, closing in,
Trapping, saving.
Pain- the cause of nothing
The simple that yearn to have depth
Expose but something lost, searching.

Rock, sway, swaying.
Back and back,
Afraid of the sun that will come
Arms around knees,
Eyes down, lock secure, as taught.
White moon gives light kisses
Her fist closed tightly over metal

Trails, streaks of wet
Fly from her face
Strong wind screams fierce
Pushing frail bones back,
Bird won’t fly unless pushed.
Whipped, the glory off the crown
Gold worn around, peeled
Painted old, fresh coat
Cover up nothing-
It only wishes to be something.

Stripped from their protection
Eyelids unfold themselves
Newborn babe
Finds comfort in Mother’s womb
Wind caress, gentle, authority
Softens brittle bone fingers
One by one
And opens her fist,
Making her see the color
She hid herself from.