She danced and receded, dancing.
She reached imploringly, and when he did not go to her she receded,
And sometimes people interposed themselves,
And sometimes a burgeoning forest,
And sometimes a swirling fog,
And sometimes only distance.
His feet would not move.
He was dumb.
He wanted to compress his love into a gesture, but his arms were stone.
Stronger than his will, other forces drew her away.
Sometimes she was laughing, running toward him through the brilliant winter,
but when he reached to hold her, she was gone.
Sometimes her face filled his world, weeping, entreating, her mouth helpless with passion…
And sometimes she was leading a child away from him, and no matter how desperately he called, layers of time passed between them.
And in the end, he was left alone with silence.