She moves the rain
The ritual
Of dancing under a storm collapsing…
She is a gallery of blue
Butterfly knots
Elements webbing her spirit ebbing…
Chanting, a sort of prayer, for guidance


Lavender charms in trees of ash
A snowing circle of burnt sage
Cleanses the lost and faithless
…And she is the incantation


Crawling like winter, or water
Tingling bones with cat-like whiskers
She imprints
The earth splits between her fingers
Delicately she dips
Nuzzling his wind till she is air itself
His weakened heart, a flint for passion
Like heat between two sticks and stirred dry leaves

.He believes.
They all believe
In her.

But
Wild is she. Like the rain
She is a hair in the mare’s thick mane
Knowing
Nothing is beneath her now
Frightened she flees
For her past has pressed her
Into a brittle reminder

…Even the chosen
Are blemished….