It’s often her eyes trail off
Into the winds, the whirls of time,
It’s often her thoughts wander off
Reading too much into a line.
It’s often her hands waver in the space
Creating words from thin air,
It’s often her back slumps slightly
Inhibitions foregone and free of all scare.
It’s often she lets more than her hair loose
When she roams out on chilly nights,
It’s often she lets her feet dance
As in her sneakers, her toes fight.
It’s often she fills the silence
With her smile, her eyes, her brows,
She seemingly has her own way
Of graciously embracing her chaos