The One True Believer

Liquid rotates at the bottom, if it is dry, The sun rises higher in the lower sky. Looking up at the moon it is full, and gracefully Snow collects at the center, in it's self left alone. Along the walls, friction is produced, never by force, Down a straight line. Near the bottom more often a thumb higher up. Between singing opera, a natural phenomenon. Both hands clench and then open and close, As it tightens up. Under the influence of the one true believer, Sooner or latter the body rises and arches. And the breath slowly leaves and her body gives it up.