There is a girl who sits near me.

I see that her hair has been swept with

Something soft and dangerous 

Like the wind.

Her terse lines ripple 

Through her teeth with wit 

Sharp as the shards of glass 

Sunk into her blue eyes. They rise  

Up to meet me with the grace of a blackbird  

Fluttering out from the depths

Of a maple tree.

Then they flicker away,

Back beneath vines of yellow hair

Where something I cannot know

Is buried. 

But I do know 

That it is soft and dangerous 

Like the wind.