Coming out of the woods
she dances in a red dress,
she and all that she is.
Life pulse stretching out through her arms,
she steps forward,
the wisdom of her years framing her face.
She has earned her skin.
She flies over the ground
in the light of the blue moon,
beaming amidst the fireflies.
She is many and she is more
than the sum of all the faces she has inhabited.
She illuminates the forest,
she dances the concert of her being.
—Lorena
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