the light tore through her eyes
as she rolled in the green grass
laughing through her tears
as she watched the sun’s demise

and seeing the sky turn from arctic to indigo
she lifted herself from the earthen bed
rosy cheeks aglow

tumbling drunkenly down cobbled ground
hearing the concertina player’s refrain
the air cradling the forte of the sound
and the breeze thickened with the cool evening veil
so she walked
past the mosaic homes,
sleeping in their wake,
somewhat yearning for the mundane
and her heart begins to ache

for she slept
not in the cotton sheets of a sun-warmed bed
nor in the arms of another
because her eyes streamed storms
and she belonged to the wild

waltzing between cities that she had long forgotten
gently removing the bandages of long-healed wounds
bright unsure eyes like a child

and though her hair was held in beautiful black drapes
and her body clothed in a flowing white dress
her curiosity like a little boy’s traipse

her heart roared fires
spitting with ash and flame
her mind like a tiger
no man could tame

she was a living breathing storm
calm on its surface
fickle to transform

so as she rolled through the grass
watching the sun’s demise
golden fires blazed in her eyes.