For Wanderer

[Llyewell]

She walks in ashes and mist-scapes,
gathers tatters of dreams.
Neither here nor there,
but somehow everywhere.

She sees vistas not yet conceived,
moves mountains out of seas.
She whispers of the shadows
and builds worlds no one knows.

To know her is to love her.
To hold her is to lose her.
Let her go. Let her show
you the hidden ways.

She will come back,
when the winds see fit,
when the tide rolls in,
when she and time will it.

The best things come to those who wait.