So they told the tale of stars,
of fasting moons and paling
scars, that speak of past the
ailing heart which saw some
thing and gave a start. A falling
sun, a glowing face, a do not look
and turn away, yet wanting both
all sense portrays, no need to write
for it will stay. The silhouetted sky
and day, to where she stands in
every way, awaits her forming hands
like clay while sculptures can not
turn away