She lived with her bare feet buried in the grass, and her palms outstretched against the willow trees, carving her memories into their trunks, and breathing their story’s into her salt water lungs. She moved faintly against the paper moon, her delicate figure drenched in moonshine, the stars’ as her shadow. I’m not dying, she told the sea, Just dancing. I will dance when the leaves fall, and I will dance when the rain refuses to, I will dance inside of trees and to the heartbeat of the waves, I will create paintings inside the earth that only the stars can see. And as her words fell from her lips so had the sky fallen down around her, and collapsed against her porcelain skin. As she danced lightly above the earth, she whispered into the oceans ears, “Ah, but no one knows of my mind. Only does the moon, for his thoughts are as transcendent as mine” and as her heels burned from the kisses of the luminous grass, she danced on, into the sun, with thoughts dancing with her, beneath her tongue and flowers sleeping around her neck.