Portrait of Mrs Dupin

I am tall as a shadow disguised at dusk
I turn my moth face to the pale moon
which wakes quicksilver gardens
and paints it's face in the mirror of day
never seeing the same tree twice
my frock is burnished leaves and petals
tiger eye honey spice berry highland sunstone
days are drawn like illuminated manuscripts
by harnessed birds exchanging seeds
and scores of meadows
at evening when only light moves
I collect dappled hopes
and display them like butterflies
I have wings and claws like a book
and hide in the folds of galloping white roses
I fly into crimson night which bellows like an accordion
the rain has no fear of dying