She writes of the falling days -  
Rumble, tumble, bump down rock slides and
Stutter limbs along cliff edges -
Knows them well, like the back of her
Tiny, fragile hand - too young and too old all at once.
What is there to stop a small girl from
Climbing a mountain to the sun?
oh...
   wait - you could stop her (you did),
with a heart just as stony as her
Mother's diamond wedding ring
You took her and ravaged her mind like
A lover - lacking in love.
How many times have her hands  opened and closed - like
Flower petals, prayer books, lips, legs.
Opened and closed, forever
seeking, searching for another path up the
Mountain.