she turns her face to the sky
tinging the air
with the familiarity of looking in-
to a mirror
(and so she looks)
it is her she sees
in the leaking turmoil
of cloud chasing cloud
endless cycle strewn out
across the constant sea-sky
it is her she feels
in the stone-willed wind
rushing to sweep obstacles up
and into its volatile volition
it is her she is
in the glorious light
fleeing through the blessed errors
of the blotting jailer-clouds
(and her also
in those same constricting clouds
which imprison the innocent sun)
it is her life
she reflects
rendered for any/every
prying eye to gaze at
but none to understand.



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