She looks at him, with tired eyes,
and asks, “What do you want of me tonight?”
His hungry gaze, like a deep, dark hole
accompanies his brief reply.

“Everything,” he says. “I want it all.
I want your moon and the stars in your sky,
I want the plants in your soil and the birds in your trees,
I want the wind that blows over your snow-strewn fields,
And I don’t want you to ask me why.”

A single tear rolls down her cheek
but her eyes are clear and strong.
In an unwavering voice, made of steel and ice,
she sings a sharp, vengeful song.

“Take it, then, but be forewarned;
the moon won’t shine for you.
The plants and trees will turn to ash at your touch,
The birds will be mute and the wind will stay hushed,
And it won’t speak again no matter what you do.”

He struck her then, a single blow,
and went to take his prize.
He bent his hand to crush her dream
but was, for the first time ever, surprised.

He looked at the moon and the twinkling stars;
the world in the palm of his hand.
The bright green grass and the tall proud trees,
the sweet singing birds and the whistling breeze,
began to run through his fingers like grains of sand.

“That which you seek to dominate,”
she said. “Is something you can’t take.
You are as nothing, insignificant dust,
in the face of the wonders I create.”