She burned my eyes
with her clear and cameo lines.
I couldn't breathe for want of a heart
as I watched her spell a prayer in the sand.
Golden she danced, and wild she moved
in marvelous motions of joy!
*My mom loved the deserts of the west. I wrote this poem for her, and when she passed away, it was burned along with her ashes.
YOU ARE READING
Prickmedainty Poetry
PoetryFor all those who broke their glass slipper and still search for stars in the shards.
