There is a place called "far away"
 she lives; and that is far enough
 that when a message comes, it's like
 a bottle from the universe,
 delivered on the sea of time and space
 and spanning ages lost.

Upon the coast of "far away" she stands
 but thinks of us, some way,
 and send some photos and some words
 describing how she works and lives
 as though, not quite an alien,
 she's more like someone born afar
 but raised on earth, she knows
 the language.

But there is nothing so exotic,
 quite so hard to understand
 as somebody who comes from you
 who now dwells off in "far away"
 and is in every way

 a perfect


 stranger

The day has come;
The door is shut behind.
It's time for all this passion,
And this mind
To make a life, a difference,
A view --
To take control, and see
What she can do.
 
There's trepidation, and
There's confidence.
But she's a purpose,
And a growing sense
Of those horizons,
Distant, and within,
That she must conquer,
And then re-begin.
 
She has no static dream,
No stone tableau --
Just knows it's time to live,
And time
 
To go

she feels the need to prove.
it is
 
unspoken and unthought
 
it's more than either:
it's a fact of growing
 
she has to feel a little pain
to climb out of
her childhood
 
and that change won't be real unless
 
it's showing

in secret times,
she longs to be
a younger girl
again
 
for life is
complicated now,
or more than it was
then
 
and sometimes,
when she thinks of it,
a tear comes to
her eye
 
it's like
that little girl left home
without saying

goodbye

The wrongs of passage
Grafted on the young,
She deftly steps aside,
And keeps her stride
Out where the pearls of joy are brung,
And decorously strung,
Along the straits of passage.
 
They take payment unkind:
But that won't be her way.
She owns herself, she does,
She always has, and always was
Beyond the reach of yesterday
And when she wants a thing, she'll pay,
And never ever pay in kind.
 
At least, it can be hoped:
For it is only with intent
That all the storms that wreck a life -
The heart's dark tumult, with its strife -
Can keep her heart from being spent
In places it was never meant.
I'm sure she will, at least
 
I hope

confidence
is a thing she enjoys
on the days
she's able --
  
for there are
other times,
that it's impossible to find,
and even harder
to imagine
ever having
again

Some say she reads too much
 
It's antisocial; it's a sin --
 
But it's not shutting out the world,
 
It's bringing new worlds
 
In

She went to grab a bit of cloud
But saw it slip away;
She trembled on the edge of mirth
The rest of that whole day.
 
What cannot be contained
Or calculated is still there --
She went to grab a bit of cloud
For now she owns
 
The air

Everything on earth is new
When seen for the first time,
For eyes and things
Form pictures together.
 
This is a form of love;
The foundation
Of all types of
Communication.
 
She embraces the waters
As they embrace her,
Each speaking a language
Only the other can translate.
 
The only world worth loving
Is too immense, and also
Too personal and
Intimate.
 
And so, through poetry
And photography
She will venture now
To share this fundamental insight
 
To some who will
Classify these things
As "phases"