Willow Tree and Storm Clouds

Under a sky like dirty water, she watches them come.
They are heavy with armor,
crushing gravel beneath their horses' hooves,
between their teeth.
She is a thin sprig and leans backward in their wind.
Somewhere, honor spurs warriors like them.
Somewhere, war leaves wreckage like her.
Somewhere, there are pearl divers and magistrates
and cats and teapots tottering on an unbalanced world.
Under this unwashed sky,
she curls her toes into the ground
and does not look away when dark men
concede to a lighter nature.
Her hands move imperceptibly
to catch their Mongol tears.