Her face lifts and falls in soft waves, and her name is Tenuous.
Her ivory skin smells of earth and beckons the sky to sway,
Each raindrop illuminating her desire-full fingertips.
She left the past to dance on dust and be carried by the wind,
To wait and watch and oscillate in the patterns of theory.
Her voice let free the universe in every syllable uttered,
But no word of hers would become written,
And would then flee from memory.
Tenuous was her name, and her face belonged to the soft waves,
Lifting and falling with strange rhythms.
