The Moonlight Stroll

The world is turning. Spinning, drowning, dropping, twisting through the air. In rags of white she smiles with violet lips and twinkling gemstones in her hair. She steps, hesitates, and steps again upon the water alive with glowing moon light. Beneath her smile are rivers of tears. Between the tears are dots of sunlight. The shadows grasp for control. The shadows grasp for that light. But the world is turning and beneath rags of white, she smiles. She smiles and steps upon the flowing river, her feet barely wet.


Note to reader: I've been having a dream of a woman in flowing, white rags walking through a small stream in the middle of the woods at night. Those dreams inspired this rather odd bit of writing. It's poem-like in its nature but not a poem, so I left it in a paragraph form.