ten lines on a woman in poetry

she wears the nightsky’s dark and stars
as were it a cloak about her shoulders
valkyrie, flaxen, honeyed-yellow hair
not nearly as awkward as she believes
boundless enthusiasm balanced out by
this unwarranted lack of confidence
eyes shining out in pale-gray blues
and sunflowers in soles of her shoes
leaving trails of lightness and hope
wherever she ends up happening to go