Sunrise light-beams christen day
Alight upon vague motes of dust
That glitter gold and quartz and rust
And flash and gleam beneath the gray
Of morning’s every soothing gust
...
She grew tired of fire
Of burning lights
She flew up with her
Crooked wings
She found the gate
Iron-clad locked
“Who has the key?”
She asked all the angels;
Laughter
Shook the walls
She screamed
All the way down as
She fell
...