Gliding she came,

Her fingers fragile like rose,

Her arms fleshed in silk,

With all love she waned,

The widowed monsoon cradled her forth,

To where she shed the filth,

The filth of eternal forlorn,

Gliding she came,

Tasting wine not of the poor,

She befriended the man of the mill,

She learned the ways of his game,

By leaving women broke,

But gliding she came,

To indulge the sea men rode,

Her fingers bristled in stilts,

Her arms pleaded for labor,

With all might she worked,

Under the tamed horizon,

Where she never left,

Gliding she came,

Tasting corners of the world,

And with indifference we looked,

As she sought a man’s soul