She drifts aimlessly beneath a brilliant canvas of stars,
replete with chagrin as shadows fall.
Her tendrils seek mighty remnants of sunlight,
never quite able to touch him
with her wisdom or woe.
Her pale face shows a weariness of canyons,
of parched landscapes that cannot be sown with seed.
Her song stretches across the slow night sky
with subtle understanding that her music is mild and mellow,
a mere whisper of wildness existing among untamed forces.
Still, she controls tides as she waxes and wanes,
echoes of change she will not diminish with her sorrow.
Her memories falter, halting her orbit for a slivered moment,
as she recalls a time when earth was new
and her shrine, burnished with idolatry.
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