She finds worth in scattered images,
Fleeting moments brushed on glass
With a soft brush, of horse's hair,
In a quick breath
And it fades

She seeks worth in a stumbling system
Holding candles above her head
With eyes shut, flame burning bright,
Though windswept
And she tires

She lost worth out among those hills
The green-grey moor in her mind
With a bare wind, cold and white,
Thriving lungs
And sockets