New York drowns in the California-made blue
The child of the voodoo kisses the sky
Her indigo ligaments are laid bare
While she falls, chasing smoking rabbits

She is small yet she soars
With her proportions falling on deaf heads
She remembers the knights of the dawn
Tangled in her gallivanting hair

Without knowing her doors
She noses her way through her window
The modest parachute travels
With the nomadic East

She recognizes heaven by taste
Knowing that she believes less and less
Seeing all without need for the travel
Ignoring the scrutiny of a gavel

Leaving in the morning
Not stopping until the fifth night
Learning for forty fortnights
Stopping to rest every second year

What a bright-eyed soul!
A sparkling visage
Adorning all her wanders
The world is at her command