Grace

I let the wind make me graceful. I let my music spin around me. I let the gold light filter through the green leaves. I let it all land on my nose, my stationary nose. There is grace in being held, in holding yourself up. Statues dance, their lines growing steadily brighter with each day they carry their shape. We dance, the world and the stationary. 

I like to be seen like this: beautiful, exuding the appearance of ease. They watch me like I watch the clouds. 

A soul of dust is like broken sunlight, but I hold myself together. I am whole and bright, like not yet shattered glass.