Who may tell her story?
Who has earned the right?
What if she’s come and gone?
Has no tongue, no eyes, no hands?
Must one wear her skin, eat from her bowl
Fight nightmare’s demons on her sleeping mat just to feel the
Rhythm of her heart?
Aren’t we all borne by the moon
As she orbits her beloved blue jewel—
The one she’s always known, and can never become?
Do we not all gaze at the sky
Seek the logic of the stars?
Spend our lives looking outward
To find a way in?
Photo Credit: AngelReyes93 Flickr via Compfight cc
