She walks backward, before the child's sky.
Blue ribbons, a pat into conversation.
Bells tumbling from her mouth.
Voiceless love, always returning hungrily.
And which determines.
A call and a running, then just a door.
At the abstract kernel, she shrugs disbelief.
Meekly wild sleeping, a word reaches
for her weeping dress.
Crossing the road, is it already written.
A wisdom loves her into sighs.
The old wind strokes the hills.
A small conversation at the bus stop
and a stranger finds further.
A grave becomes more serious.