The moonstone woman combs her hair
Blind even before birth
She lives only within her own light

There is the sound of an earthenware jar cracking
And water flows down a long staircase
Into the depths of a murky violet hole

When she lights a lamp in loneliness
She senses dogs crouching
At the four corners of the earth

The woman will someday go beyond the tower
Crossing corridors of gathering clouds
Led by fish with lidless eyes

But now, she holds sour fruit in her mouth
And combs the moonlight
Sitting swallowed in shadow