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Lauren at 17

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Lauren at 17

She understands the wind in all its fancies;
First born of all our lives in transition
Sheer elegance becomes a metaphor transparent,
To always be a Dancer in the woods.

She lives inside herself and revels in the freedom.
Her isolation green and softly shining
Incandescent perfection,
Sometimes in anger without understanding
Shame the One who bought the rain...
And let the Northern Winds of Ice
Explain the cost of lies in pain.

She, who would shimmer in the silence
Of perfect selection
Far beyond the boundaries we lay before her
Hopefully waiting behind their masques....
To watch her stepping over words
As if they would soil her heart's desire.

She understands the wind in all its fancies;
From all directions real and imagined..
And she has heard it weeping
In languages only she can understand...
She walks alone
Along a path only the Southern Wind can show her
And speaks in earnest of Life's painful questions
Within the Western valleys...

She walks alone....
She understands the Winds...

She understands.

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