Money-gold and blood-red, darkened by corruption,
Interrupting the stars with tendrils of light.
Cold dew of dawn on feet; she walks, and waits,
Trees filling her vision, and above them the sun
Bursts over their pointed tops and shows her
The thing for which she has been looking.
Herself. A shadow on the floor. Her bare feet
Make no noise as she walks a little further,
Pausing to look down, and then reaches the fence.
Sharp wood. Splinters. Reality among the magic.
She stumbles on a rock, a sharp pain on bare toes.
A little blood. She heeds it not, walks further,
Eyes fixed on the bright fireworks of morning.
A few wisps of cloud hint of shadows later on -
She ignores them, and keeps on walking.
Long grass, swishing at her bare summer legs:
This is a sunrise to remember, on this golden day
Of a dark, late summer.