dances in moonlight under a starless sky
    I, the figure in question, hesitate—
tenuous and fragile, 

my small bones hardly larger than
    those of fishes dreaming in a blue lake
my head tipped up into wild plum night.

Flocks of mourning doves rise
    above a mist shrouded balsam forest.
What is my role in the natural world? 

Is this the humanity I envisioned in my youth?
    Will we ever be free of conflict and desire,
the pull of greed, power, and dominance?

Years fly toward me on angel wings—
    each one more swiftly than the last—
trusting me with rain-drenched ticks of time.