Celestia

Face spun of the yarn
passing through
wisdom's fingers

face uplifted to the edges
of eternity
seeking the truth

her delicate garb of
ethereal matter
efferveces

like the fragile
breath of an eager
newborn

the clothes, they
have become
as she

has flowed her power
through them
like thread

a seamstress of
the world of
now

and some say,
perhaps, too, the
realm of tomorrow

as undefinable as
the song of
silence or

her celestial
throne of
serene energy

she waits around
glimmering and
fluttering on

opaque wings, nearly
disappearing into the
folds of life

she is invisible
to those who seek
her

she is only found
by the unwary traveller
who falls, like a

disgraced angel into
her spindly hands
worn from

years of frolicking
in the neverending light
of the

Superconscious
that is she.