She Dances

She Dances She dances. In the dark, she dances. Soft petals fall — like autumn leaves loosed from their branches, spiraling to the ground. Down on one knee, she cries. To her God, she cries — the sound a fragile shatter in the quiet. Her pain drips black, thick as ink, spilling for all to see. A spotlight burns against her face, but she turns away, folds into shadow, afraid they might see the raw, unhidden truth of her. She waits for the moment her shadows learn to sing.