reaching out to brush away
a single thread of gold from her face,
his smile stopped the winds to hear his smile sing

her hair, threaded with gold.
she was broken as the sky below,
but threaded with hope-
resurrected from the grave of her dreams.

dancing with the ghosts,
in the flowering white dress,
glints of guilt framing her thoughts

broken, but with desperation
for a new inauguration
with a radical definition
to her adoration

rekindle the candle
let the rage be cooled
into a fiery calmness

he stopped to hold her delicate soul,
put it in a cast until it mends as a whole

broken, but for the better
to be made renew

reconstruction,
destroy with a purpose
destroy the askew
to squeeze out the last adieu