146

others were never sure
whether she vanished within things,
or if it was things that vanished
within her.

.
.

145

wherever the sky settled,
she would gently tread her path.

.
.

144

there were those, frail,
whose sustenance
was but the pale pollen
of her silence.

.
.

143

her world being liquid

they could bathe there,

and emerge unsullied.

.

.

142

she would linger
—long before
and long after.

.
.

141

though her garden 

was luminous,

the things of this world
drew sustenance
from the dark.

.

.

140

for those she favoured,

she would reveal herself
in the gaps and chiasms
of the everyday.

.
.

139

her vulnerability
was indestructible.

.

.

138

the barest of glimpses
would suffice.

.

.

137

in her world, infinity
was just a matter of course.

.

.