I desire a spin on the dance floor,
to fly to where time stalls, to come
ceases to beckon but only you.
Powdery pink in the mist
on the brink amid pale blue horizons
where eagles dally.
Fresh from the start of that other day
when cooler winds prevailing the plains
truly were greatest.
We bring life to the hillside,
broad fields of color, milkweed,
hibiscus and comfrey run wild.
Suns seek this earth to radiate upon,
a garden of solar results, we are orb dancers,
kabuki on a sphere.
Last night I awoke startled, suffocating
though breathing naturally, oxygen
no longer enough.
Lungs within lungs yearned for deeper breath,
for air to sweep to lofty wind more rarefied
than any we have breathed.
Throughout time she dances, a silhouette
scented of patchouli, holy water,
and salted sweet-brine.
Chagall 2017
