She lives on the margin always
dreaming – a non-conformist, she is no
villager, yet refuses the households who call to her.

In sight of the forest
combing its perimeter, she gazes
toward the village –
a schism, a rebel; each world divides
her heart in two. She waits
for no sage or deity of the woods,

no soul to bid her
enter in, but enters yet still within
sight of the village.
She stands with one foot in two

worlds across a great chasm, constantly
yearning, yet unwilling to perforate
the frontier. She’s an enigma,
a riddle, a conundrum who
studies the feasibilities

of the unknown, patrolling
the perimeters . . . travelling lightly.