She holds herself close. Her limbs
interweave to form a safe nest
of ankles and wrists, with 
a solid embankment of knees. 
She stretches her arms 
into the actual shape of her body 
with the delight of a child 
who wakes each morning 
amazed at the joy 
of her own trusted touch: arm, 
ankle, calf, fingertip, wrist. 
She holds herself close.

Above the safe nest of her body
she holds her gaze steady, sees
into the distance as far as she can.
Far beyond the confines of this nest,
this flower of only a moment,
she sees the universe, vast
and unknown. And she trusts it,
for better or worse,
as she trusts her own body.