Living the Dream

rocking, waving her arms in the moonlight
of some sonata that is strobing neon notes
of love, of loss, of knee-bending need

she dances in the dark like a weathervane
creaking in the winds before the crack of dawn
whirls round and round to the bow of a dizzy fiddler

tiptoed, flat-footed, high-stepping, foot banging
dance with delight along ancient blue bowls
crafted by old women generations before

she dances the dance of Eve, of tarantella,
of slow shuffling steps to a deathbed

she cycles, she pulses, she has clasped hands
with the devil if she had to, to keep time to the timbre
of a well-blown flute heard on a fairy’s mound

she dances in the brackets of forest trunks,
weaving between the shadows, revolving
like the sun between dawn and dusk

she spins, she bows down, she rises like swan
songs meant to be sung forever may stop
but she will sway in sunlight or rain,
in fever or to foreign music that crackles
in the distance…you will never know
if , what runs down her cheeks
is sweat, rain or tears.

Tags: Poems //