Alpha Gamble Girl

The leaf broke in her fingers.
Winds stole the fragments to a swirl,
laid crumb on this clay roulette.
 
The crinkling dusk rippled cross over her head,
shot past her like a blend of ocean comets.
 
But the mirror of the scattered ground
elapsed in a prisonered ghost.
 
When the grain of lunar helm braids around her head the stars' tiara
and when the gold headlight hangs into the beam of her swept hair at godspeed,
the reflected spirit's erasure from the table of fractioned bread
with the leaf and the grass
crystallizes in the tears that crunch
from mint polar boots,
 
given that she would not gamble
with less than the moon, the constellations of heroes, and her suns.