A lace wrapping, a soft shoe, fit snug around her rosy toes
Softer than voile, the ribbons snake up her legs, bowed around
her ankles
Cool metal presses against the calfskin coverings
bolted in place, digging deep into the music

A perfect fouetté, and another, and another, and another, twenty-eight
more to go and she's still turning high above the earth, fourteen inches in the air, suspended only by the glistening steel beneath.

The ruffles fly out around her, arms loosely above, hair tight, toes
broken and strong
En pointe, a pinnacle achievement for those in the discipline, yet these points remain out of reach for most
as they dig deep
into the piano while she pirouettes en dehors right before the scarlet
cut