If you touch her
she may crumble
before your eyes,
for at times
she doesn’t feel truly alive…
She’s held up
by prayers
and mystical things,
she thrives
on kindness
and the warmth of her skin…
On dark nights she cries
while you are asleep,
she searches
for shadows
and visions that speak…
Her strength comes not
from what is seen,
it’s grace that carries
her in-between
the silences
of when she’s
fully awake
and before
the dawn
when dreams are opaque…
The morning
holds promises
that blessing
will come,
and she opens her eyes
to welcome the sun…
