I waltz across the tiled floor,
lit by a thousand lamps,
and the chandelier above.

Gold between them, those tiles,
black and white, they chime as
you dance, your hem of lace spinning
as you twirl, a fantasy made incarnate,
if only in the realm of Dreams.

I spin you low, I lift you high, your
face shining, eyes bright with laughter,
wide with joy.

We dance, back and forth, across gleaming
tiled floor, graceful as a pair of swans,
one black one white, spinning slowly
across the floor.

And then faster! We leap, we spin
we twirl in each others arms, gazes locked
feet moving unguided, dancing, spinning!
We pant and we laugh and we leap, and we
swoop, like the dance of swallows in the
living, laughing, dancing time of Spring.

And we dance. And all to the hidden
music of a thousand violins, a thousand
flutes, a hundred cellos, a symphony to
reach the angels in their singing and
set them all to listening in awe and wonder
of the power and grace and joy of the music
of man.


And we dance. But at at last the music
slows, softens, falls away, slowly, gently,
and we, spinning, spinning, slowly,
softly fall away. Our hands reluctant part,
our feet slow and are still, ceasing their
complex patterns of step in and step out,
of the leap and the twirl, of the flying spring
and the swooping fall. At last our feet are still.

And we part.
I watch her go, fading, fading.

And I realize it was all a dream.