She wanders at the edge of her existence,
her mind long overgrown with wild nettles.
Her heart’s lost in an opalescent distance

where the moon spins into cobwebs as she listens.
Her heart beats like a war drum, then resettles.
She wanders at the edge of her existence

and stumbles on a winding path that glistens
with blooming garden beds and bleeding petals.
Her heart’s lost in an opalescent distance

to reach a rose-gold sun that slowly christens
the day into a burst of blues and metals.
She wanders at the edge of her existence,

the willows bowing at the sun’s insistence.
While waiting to see where the shadow settles,
her heart’s lost in an opalescent distance.

She recites epics to her heart, but if it listens,
it remains concealed among the moss and nettles.
She wanders at the edge of her existence,
her heart lost in an opalescent distance.