I read somewhere about a gymnast so flexible
she turned into air. Nowhere and everywhere

all at once. Feet in the stars and hands
digging up the dirt. Young heart

full of the things that matter most:
tiny birds, fireflies, snowflakes.

What the wind remembers
when everything else falls apart.

It’s in the bones, in how you move
gracefully across a dark room

bringing in the light. A kind of magic
not many people can do. Fairytale about

the rustling of leaves and the girl who breaks through.