Her Canopy

Her canopy is high above her head,
Making room for afar breezes,
Letting in the rain.
It is gathered in close.
Her arms cross folded across her chest,
Fingers tightly woven,
Fabric pulled taut against the grain.
It is see-through,
Letting in the Northern Lights and blinking stars.
The lightening brings the daylight, yet the black holds the daylight at bay.
Her canopy is a seat she seeks religiously every Sunday.
Below her it's a solid something, keeping her from the cold outside dirt.
It separates her from the next swaying shoulder.
In her mind she believes her canopy is tightly, impenetrably woven.
The canopy is visible to all.