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Dance
Dance, hover, glide. Across the floor, slippered steps.
Arm-beats, soaring towards the sky like an eagle,
fingers splayed, the tips of its feathers at the end of majestic wings.
Torso taut, strut. The strum of strings twitch my muscles.
They launch my limbs into a story, an opera all my own.
Hips hop, thrust from side to side, forwards; circle an imaginary globe.
I ride on a ray of golden light fallen on the tiles through the window.
On the terrace, my body skates on the breeze.
I remember my dance-partners down the years: lovers, friends,
my own flesh and blood. Emotions seep into the choregraphy:
it shifts, it whips up fanciful turns. Lyrics trigger new adours.
My voice grasps at fleeting words. I dive into song.
My breath rises from the depth of my core, and fuels my fervour.
My soul swoops into the music. I become whole and rise to a paroxysm. The sound flows into silence. I rest, spent.
They launch my limbs into a story, an opera all my own.
Hips hop, thrust from side to side, forwards; circle an imaginary globe.
I ride on a ray of golden light fallen on the tiles through the window.
On the terrace, my body skates on the breeze.
I remember my dance-partners down the years: lovers, friends,
my own flesh and blood. Emotions seep into the choregraphy:
it shifts, it whips up fanciful turns. Lyrics trigger new adours.
My voice grasps at fleeting words. I dive into song.
My breath rises from the depth of my core, and fuels my fervour.
My soul swoops into the music. I become whole and rise to a paroxysm. The sound flows into silence. I rest, spent.
©susanbauryrouchard