Embroidering the low terrestrial plains
with what's otherwise saved for the moon-heights,
little girls make brisk, calculated spins and turns,
taking to the pattern of our arrival.
Subtle gleaming trails of light
smear throughout the air,
from the satchels that our bellies bear,
pastel limes and baby golds, soft, angelic whites.
We welcome the night
with quiet hums
and low vibrations,
cupped in the centers of small hands.