her hands are calloused and scarred
from reaching too fast
and hitting all the hard places.
her voice is brightly hoarse and beautifully pained
from singing too loudly
like the tree frogs after a rain storm.
her skin twists and softens
like a stream with the smoothest stones at the bottom.
her face smiles like the moon in summer
and cries like the withered leaves shivering in the cold of winter.
her eyes match the color of the sky when it holds the stars between its fingers.
and sometimes, when the sunlight touches her hair just right, it mirrors the bark of ancient trees.
her wisdom is young.
her love has been murdered,
yet her smile holds the secrets of naive infatuation.
is she a child, or is she a ghost?
is she afraid, or is she jaded?
her body has been thrown from the sky,
yet her bones have never been broken.
she will always know pain
and laugh as it passes under her feet.