| Silver Edged Winds The silver edged winds followed my scarfed head, seeking to rob me of my mourning hood, and I am riding away from lighthouses and beacons, my steed senses the secret tracks of my daisy-chain girlhood, we pass by temples of my youth and the statues of my wanting, I heard that lilies ache as they grow, and that the curl, that little curl, is the where the soul slides out to hunt down kisses from the sun. shalome � 2004 |