the dream, at thirteen, 
seemed strange in allure: 
she could find a bright way 
in a place so unsure, 

like the magic of books 
that went on in her head 
from the peace of the dark 
and the warm of her bed, 

she would one day find something 
she knew was her own, 
where she'd shine out like Christmas -- 
where her name was known -- 

and the vision lived on 
years beyond memory: 
but the dream, at thirteen, 
came without code 

or key