Freed from the shackles of home
she walked on earth as if it was hers,
Left in a mess different by those
who stepped before, unfamiliar,
To be relearned and reorganised
by each new pair of eyes.
We talked at length with rhythm
and rhyme, each of our own voice,
Deep tones from beneath bright face
betraying foibles and fumbles,
Painting our thoughts on the wind
carrying words to a plain sky.
Reading faces was never my strength
but hers danced with a foreign honesty,
Delicately and silently speaking
with such a vigorous wide,
Until soon I knew of her
though I did not know.