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It
tugged at her, that
ancient call,
so she slipped from
her barren bed
where her sisters in
black were asleep,
to that magical night,
to catch stars soon
to fall.
She
ran through the trees
to the open space,
she flew over crests
of the hills;
with joy she embraced
those fiery streaks,
their burning caresses,
their kiss on her face.
All
night long she danced
with that light,
rapt in its luminous
arms;
her blood ran white
and hot with its fire
that forever would kindle
her soul in the night.
Her
days were cold in those
walls of stone,
sorting the dried and
withered fruit,
sifting dead ashes scorched
by the Sun,
while her sisters knelt
silently weeping alone.
But
at night she bathed
in those radiant beams;
her hands still covered
with silvery dust
stroked the burning
kiss on her skin,
and wild she ran with
the stars in her dreams.
©
1999 Deborah
Smith Parker
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