She walks in the cool mountain air.
Her imagination cannot be concealed or reined in.
She hikes in dawns first light
And dusks last breath
But, even beauty has its limits

Life stabs her in places
Only hope really knows .

In the soft light of an
Early moon
From her swirling Smokey dream
an undertone
You can barely hear .

Into the backwaters of
spiritual rigor and solitude .
Vaguely off balance
Kissed with regret .
Slaying words
Like petals flayed
From the softest rose
Inert and harmless
She rolls over.
A Psalm of praise
To beauty .

But like fire made
of ice
It masks the arc
Of illusion and
Shields the proclamation
Of amnesty.
Of an equally enthralling
And dangerous Woman .

i bask in the arctic moon,
its bright light unyielding—
its silver beams flooding the expansive canvas of ragged mountains starch and piercing against the onyx sky.
starless, the raven sweeps over head.
the silence of the snow does not forgive.
the iced air stings my skin, renders my blood to blue
yet i bask, for the chill is enticing,
just like you.