Sordid and Sacred

In my waking dreams I see a lady walking with me in the wind
and I with her. We are the same in essence, different in function.

I'm on this road to find out whether she walks among us, or elsewhere
and what makes her the same as me. Sordid and sacred.

The wind may twist her stiff straight swarthy hair
but love spins all things round right.

Is there a lady going this way, brave enough to do her heart’s bidding
not gazing into the social mirror nor counting its reflection dearer, unwitting?

Point us in the direction of where the children play
for there we will find authenticity.