Artwork by Catharina Reynolds
You dance to me, as if the whispered music
were an orchestra instead our shared breath.
Your moves create the moment and we use it,
and sunrise lights our steps across this earth
still damp with dew, and your extended arm
calls genies up who conjure from fresh air
the chiselled steps we dance up to the flame
of morning. There are leaves caught in your hair.
My heart's caught in my throat so I don't sing
but simply hug you to me till we fly.
A special rose condenses from the throng
of candidates appearing in the fire
your dancing sparks. I place it in your hands,
and kiss you once more, thank you for the dance.
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