Through the mist she steps, Golden rings shining on her toes, Bejeweled fingers gently sweeping the dew away as they glide in her wake… “She’s walking on the water again,“ they say. She’s walking on the water, She’s plucking the strings, that she is - She’s pulling them forward, She’s pushing them away, Yet how can they resist? A maiden, a butterfly, a swan? Veiled in stardust, clothed in clover, Sweet lips painted as a cherub’s bow, Her scent mysterious and enveloping, Calling out your name (don’t bow your head in shame)… She’s stepping on the stars, Climbing ever higher, tightening the cord, Pulling herself up…wings unfurled now. They are reaching skyward, clinging to her toes - The rings pull free and they fall, Mystified as they tumble Earthbound, Eyes lifted, frozen, trembling as she disappears Not into the mist, but into the light, Leaving the bleeding hearts behind Dreaming the dream they cannot escape. Dena L Moore March 14, 2006