In which I send my love
It takes hundreds of miles for her to feel free.
To chisel away at those layers of sediment worry,
Until she gleams beneath.
It takes a bitter wind to steal away her fears.
To rip at eyes and skin, until there is no room left to dread,
Only a world narrowed to a single, simple opposition.
It takes a problem solved to remind her of power.
Amid all those wicked chains that whip wild at the future,
This, alone, is in her hands. This she can do.
The sky folds down on every side,
Slicing through the heartstrings that she gifts so easily.
No longer pulled by faraway hands, she rocks on her feet,
And takes her moment.