Model legs, blood red shoes, spider-web tattoos,
clothes patchy, motley and so much like her
life, a jigsaw of unlinkable pieces.
To escape her incompleteness, she hides
her tears and becomes unreachable; like
a butterfly she flits from bloom to doom.
By night she stares at stars, dreams of angels
and follows the footprints of stiletto moons.
By day she whittles all the wooden fragments,
brightens, lacquers, polishes them all
till they look tempered, calm and harmonized
to hide the tangle, twist and snarl that lurks within.
Magpie Tale time again (more here).