His regard is steady, dispassionate
Like his flatly timed step
As he guides their dance
In refined ornateness
To the rhythms and sighs of his audience
This is his world
To which the shrouded in his arms
in the gossamer of clouds
Her heels too fragile to touch the dirt-ridden floor
Yet too heavy with bone and sinew
To float to the heavens
Her back arches slightly as though sustaining a weight with grace
Her hand rests on his shoulder like dew
As she follows in perfect simultaneity in the foreknowledge of his lead…
His strong arm and the audience
only half real
Her gaze mute,vague, askew-
Resting on the spaces between swirling air particles…
The spaces between air particles
Are like the spaces between worlds
Where she flows in strange elegance
Pregnant and empty as the wind
Shining with the life of ice crystals
Her umbilical chord
Stretching like Jacob’s ladder
From her cold northern axis
To shadow-lands  beneath
Queen of the spaces between worlds
She dangles
Like a magnificent spider
Enfolded in his lead
Her light spinning
Is a mesmerizing thing
That quietly stays time
And for a moment the audience forgets itself
and gasps–
Feeling its life breath
© Rachael Bulla  12/28/2001

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