Littered with gravel —
a path diminished.
A draft depriving
my nature as such.

Barked giants shadowing,
luring out doubt.
No difference distinct since
I never look up.

But lo, a lark,
staring back at me.
Any bid to steal glances
were met by peeps.

We amused and laughed,
flattered in bursts.
If this is truly a trick, then
God deserves my curse.

Her hair sweeps the gravel.
Her voice shoos the shadows.
Her light dries my eyes
along with the puddle
in which she resides.