She had been silently dreaming,
Dreaming all along,
Of Wings, of Sky,
Of the miraculous.
She had never suspected,
Though she gave an occasional and sidelong glance,
Half-seeing what she saw,
That meek and quiet were protective seals,
A wax rind to conceal the power
To break her world apart
And set it alight
With just the might of thinking.
The dirt under her fingernails,
The coarse weave of her cloth,
Did not prepare her.
Wildflower crowns and dextrous hands
Did not hint.
Breaking clods of earth and singing were no foreshadowing
Of her will,
Nor of how easily reality could break,
With just a few words exchanged with a stranger
Who was not.