It is a world of randomness.
Photos play in
their digital displays.
Soft impression of
Of wet and salted sands
leave an imprint
of her sacred dance.
Another photo
catches her
soft features
strained in
fantastic effort.
Like a perfect sketch
her legs
are outstretched midair
in opposite directions.
A gray cement cylinder
with open circles
cradles her soft body.
She is a changeling
that bends with
it’s hard contours.
Switching with
a finger’s flick,
finds two black ropes
that hold the hopes
of the young dancer
hanging down
unbound
as she is.
With the fierceness
Of Artemis
this bare foot goddess
sweeps her feet
across the
white winter grounds.
Her steps are
hot enough
to melt the snow.
Later she
enshrouds herself
in a transparent veil.
The melody does not stop.
She moves
like the figure in a
faberge egg music box,
never allowed
to rest until
she breaks.
Beautiful and powerful,
she blooms like the flowers
her admirers plucked
to place pink petals
at her feet.
She is eloquence.
Arms outstretched
to open the doors
that lead to a
warm summer dreamland
which all her devotees
wish to explore.
Folds of blue fabric
fill her tiny hands,
rippling like water
hit by strange skipping stones.
She ***** the fabric forward
up, down, and back,
trying to soar
with the fury of her dance.
One knee rises.
Unfeathered arms open,
flowing back, up, and away.
This long legged
blonde blue eyed child flys,
a canary in the coal mine
barely concealed
urging us to feel;
Frozen in time
on Instagram
to be seen
and soon sidecrolled away.
A queen like Titania,
fairy winged,
a thing of dreams.
Nature’s surroundings
obfuscate her
transient existence.
Her body bends and sways
with the wonders of
old orchestras and concertos.
Till, eve falls
and December takes the dancer.
The soft swimmer shimmers
in the soon to be frozen water.
Feathers fall from the Swan’s
long lost daughter,
and the well used
dance shoes
refuse to move.
