Within the waves her face appeared like the moon.
Amongst the watery blue clouds, blemished grey and green.
And she floats underneath the bridges thinking about herself.
About her body turning around corners.
About the sunlight accentuating her features.
Her hair, a web, a labyrinth, growing inward.
Her heart is a muscle that drives her onward.
Trying to drown her impatience, adapting herself to the tenacity of the sea.
Her body rotates to catch a spark of the stars.
Leave an imprint.
Twisting and turning, shouting into the water.
They all look for her secrets.
Dissipated like ash in a thunderstorm.
Her fingers on her pastel lips.
It’s the salt that keeps her going.
And as she steps onto the rocks, she makes orphans out of her shadowlands.
“Marie Madeleine dans la grotte” by Jules Lefebvre (1834-1912)