When I look into her eyes I can see the universe as it was meant to be before there was such a thing as injury. I can see the intensity of her clarity of visions no one else could ever possibly fathom and the way she can touch those dreams, pull them close, make them her own. Delicate and strong as bone. Where there is pain there is possibility. In places that shatter like broken glass crashing against the pavement, you can feel the wind rush in, you can learn to breathe again. You can kiss death on the mouth and live again. The white sun slides behind a veil of steel gray clouds, black liquid tear drops held suspended by hands unseen. A collective cosmic mind wide shut over a difficult earth. The gravel is crunching beneath our feet as we trade ideas about the tender things the world can’t bear to hold the way she can. With elegance and grace and a soul which is as deeply darkly symphonic as it is electric, as brittle as it is fire as it is brave as it is relentless the way an open field dares to be endless, lush with wilderness, tangled, blossoming, rolling out as far as the sky can reach underneath the storms which will ravage, which will destroy, which will recede, become sweet mist upon a glittering ocean. She is an angel down from heaven, a place she conjures and almost believes in and brings to life with those crystal blue eyes like the laughter of bright secrets, like the smoke of the heat of the cold. As if she deserves any of this hurt that she does not deserve. As if this ridiculous world could ever deserve a woman of a child of a beauty like this.
Allison Marie Conway 