Who knew the sky flew so close to the horizon,
That the stars sang like the wind in her hair,
That the trees hung from the bluff with regret?
Who knew the words to open the mirrors,
The spells to dispel all the blues in her eyes,
To morph her sorrow into linen and light?
Who knew what questions to throw at God,
Safe in our memories, sated with man-prayers,
Yet fading into these questions we never ask?
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