150

she always entered silently,
or so it appeared
for there were those who claimed
that she never left.

.
.

149

for those that knew her
bathed in light was not just an expression.


.
.

148

those who were truly familiar with her knew
she would brook no compromise;
there were only two options:
either all would have thrones or none.

.
.

147

she cleared her shelf of all its contents.
then put them back one by one
until it was empty again.

.
.

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.

.

.