tickling across fingertips and plastic cup rims,
such a strange little heroine, clad in red and black,
a living remembrance of wishes on eyelashes;
tiptoe softly, child, softly, child, softly.

bring me luck, lady, as I brought you freedom—
a universe of stalked forests and October wind.
and when the flames call you homeward,
remember the child who is not a child,
who whispered vowel-chimes in your ear.