She found herself lost
under the words of a poem that had pulled her in.
Words that took her by the hand to see below their surfaces.
To see where their meanings took root and kept reaching.
Plunging low then rising.
Climbing to be seen,
then diving to be found.
All the while, revealing to her pictures of her life.
Pictures tucked in between their frailties.
Webbing line after line into a gossamer covering.
The delicate lining of her restless soul – spent and run weary,
after wrestling to have its needs met.