My Pieride

She moves when I'm asleep
through unsurrounded water;
her movements are a throne,
her glance, a crown.

Santolina of a childhood
and words
are tangled in her hair,
in her wake,
as she wakes…

Alive, I light along the sands
to cast her shadow, slantwise, soaring. Here
she's teasing flecks of autumn from the air.

For one who dazzles.