the shyest stick figure,
she held no weight against herself,
walking, she left no print
in my mind
a shallow depiction of a womanly example
but in the weeks and months that followed
realness gathered in clouds around her
and stars began to flash through in the lighting of snapshots of her soul,
like the strokes of a tired artist
curves were drawn around the frame
Color now brightening
lips and hair now red
I could see the pulses of blood and hear the first notes of her song
The beginning of her dance
face now in full bloom
eyes like large drops of dew
and cheeks like stripes on petals
I can finally see a greater reflection
in her countenance
With laughing joy
I make it out
that intricate
signature
the potter’s thumb print
the name of God