this bruised ballerina forgot how to dance.
            her lithe body a marionette
artfully conducted by threads in her back
   at the nimble fingertips of some perverse desolation
       she moves mechanically
   to its twisted touch.

she is told to somehow turn scars to flight --
    mend wounded wings
             and glide, carelessly soar
      through painted skies and fairy clouds
sweet as a songbird's melody
    reborn, a fresh starling

(listen: she weakly sings)

Heavenly host fill Hill Country skies on this night ,
delivering miracles , providing comfort to the oppressed ,
showering a confused , stress laden Earth with hope and
the promise of rest .. Sweet rest .. May Angels swaddle ,
protect and free you of your worldly burden this night ,
committing thy mind to rest , sweet rest .... Good night ..

I drew a circle
On the map
On the steps
Of my flat
A place of
Serenity
Virtue and
Peace. I knew
Before this
Place of seats.
A seat to sit on,
Became recommenced,
Perched on a tree
In a lovely breeze,
High sprung I rung
Past the old self of
M
E.
Taking notes
Learning
Lessons.
Keeping memories
Of morning blessings,
Putting away in a casket
The fears and questions,
Now again I feel caressing.