Pretty Face

She was a thing of raw beauty,

no more wild animal than girl.

The firelight was a friend in the dark,

as she danced in nonsense patterns around it.

With a painted face that resembles lost stars,

she touched the night with soil dusted fingers.

Bare feet touch ground in meeting and partings of earth,

in lithe ways that the sparrow envies.

To the sane, she has gone mad,

but to the dreamers and wanderers like us,

she is life.

She is free.