A third poem for the beautiful soul who dances so often — never have I found a muse that stirs so much; I feel like a murky pond whose waters are at long last being kicked up.

  unbidden the spine arches
  as extolling gentleness her body spins;
precision married with impassioned passion:
        a taste of fire in a teacup.

was not the first word ‘dance’?
   as some angelic choir let forth song
and bathed in light still fresh from
    darkness-quiet moved their airy hips?

her sway is sea wind, bending willow, flowing brook
    blossom-tipped summer bough
bearing fruit as it reaches
                                   towards an ever-after sky.

adorned with rose lights is she:
   a summer queen moving towards eternity
       the frost-chill-snap of winter
       broken at her feet.

her broad strokes of motion
     some eloquent desire awaken
as the imprint of her braided hair
  leaves its flicker-sketch drawn upon the pregnant air.

nestled glimmers of treasure peek,
      beguiling in their ephemeral glances
               which speak of mystery wrapped
in silver and gold.

    a tear sits frozen on the nose’s slope—
singing light with joy
    as a million drops of sunshine
reflect from her shining face.

the joining curve
  where height meets depth
rejoices in its stretch
  slick-gleaming with the body’s water

and marked by some human hand
  with the organ of a human love
beating not with the body’s blood
but with the pulse of drums.

this one, wrapped is she in mist or air made solid
    which billows as she twirls and shows
      ankles that seem sculpted to dance on clouds
near heaven’s throne

as joy embraces and the flesh succumbs
      to a rhythm far older,
and a smile of parted lips
unravels time.

O be ravenous for movement!
   and let the soul take wing
to touch the endless god-ling
   that dreams within.