Receding into the distance,
a silvery slenderness,
turning purple, then black in the dimming light.

I walk to this lady of the woods
who stands alone upon this moor.
She still claims the light,
as light is everything to her.

Her crimson catkins separate
like wings, to flutter
into the breeze,
a swarm of speckled flies.
Undressing her tissue skin
again and again, she endures
revealing her white graceful

beauty