Kaguyahime Sonnet

I grew up fast. Too fast, my mother said.
Too fast, the neighbors said. Something happened,
something must have, but what? My face trepanned
and the light poured out, mouth open, lips spread,
my eyes shading from dark to bright and back
like the moon. Everyone noticed, but me,
and all the men noticed me, wanted me.
I learned to vanish, was saved by my knack
for flying away with fluttering sleeves
and hair through wet grass and over trestles,
falling, and hiding again. A vessel
is coming, I will leave. My mother grieves.
Light and shadows fold themselves around me;
feathers brush my face, erase memory.

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Italian or Petrarchan sonnet form.