She conjures with wax, makes it sing
through fingers deft, artful and lithe;
engaged thus, she sees each form spring
livid, star-forged, as though alive –
- liquid, fierce – her focus playing
around each fold. She nurtures blithe,
joyous thoughts as her hands caress,
oblivious, her face a mask.
Nothing intrudes to provoke stress:
even the wax does all she asks.
Sublime! She works on, feeling blessed.