The girl is incomplete.
Her eyes reveal an emptiness that her cluttered mind
complies with, if reluctantly.
Her body is a vessel

for thought, for the sweetest things;
in her vision are dandelions and wishing flowers,
and she reaches to grasp them, blows on a wishing flower,
watches its tiny petals blow in the wind.

Her body breathes, but is not alive.
She is only a vessel for something bigger than herself;
inversely, she is other than herself,

a stranger. The girl's muscles are stiff--
she moves with difficulty, as a girl moves when
she is not herself. She sees everyone around her
so alive, and is jealous. The girl is incomplete.

She is only a fragment of what she knows herself
to be. Recently, she has noticed certain vibrations
in the earth and around her, in the trees and water and
in the sky, intensified by wishing flowers.