for her
it was always that never ending search for beginnings,
never for the end,
and all she needed was
that little leap out from time,
sleepless and forgetful,
she would just take it all in,
and her experiences would
run like blood through her veins,
and only on rare occasions,
could you see them,
flashing like a mysterious glisten in her eyes,
or a surprising turn of phrase,
for the rest of the time,
she just seemed plain,
without even an identifiable routine,
or even the slightest hint of wisdom,
as being curious,
she was settling on the things she did not understand,
just like dust.