she is a rag doll a corn husk a stick wound with blue yarn the moonglow on the windowpane at dusk the mournful cry of the train the wolf howl echoing in the forest the mist of cold that drifts from our mouths as we walk through a dark winter night she is the smoke of a candle the crack of the whip the click of the gear she is the dust that coats all the string that ties all together that connects she is the blue rain shining she is the bead of rain dripping down the glass she is the sadness that wells from the belly and lodges in the throat she is the long pale arm that reaches up from the depths the arm that beckons the hand that breaks the surface the space between two hands clasped in prayer between two lover’s hands clasped fingers entwined she is a garden of rain and thunder pools of black water filled with stars and leaves a flower a bouquet of dragonfly wings shimmering she is the dream that spins its cocoon about us as we sleep she is a bonfire of autumn leaves burning the purr of a cat the cry of a child alone in the street the smoke I swallow the words I eat