A ballet dancer in tight origami,
A bent dream,
A folded spectrum
A tiny moment of beauty nestled in the grace of a crinoline and lace.
This is Dorothy praying over the yellow brick road,
Clara nursing the Nutcracker,
Odette purging her broken heart.
This is a lovely young woman who peeled back the protective layers
And let me walk into her life,
Rest my hands against the walls of her heart
And feel the rippling silken thorns of her history brush my palms
And then recede without leaving a mark.
This is a lovely young woman in a permanent bow,
Her hair escaping from the elastic band,
Her hands an arrowhead in negative space.
Sunlight breaks over her, falls through the moat-mesh surrounding her,
Balancing her, a circumference of music notes and golden edges in the calligraphic
Arabesques of her toes
Of the points in her fingers
In the long lines in her legs.
She is curled in a perfect ninety degree angle for a moment
Collapsing the forest behind her
Staring at the ninety degrees of the bricks under the tips of her toes
Before she falls…
Pebbles burying themselves into the palms of her hands,
–Tiny freckled stigmata–
Brushes away the nuisance pain
And then resumes her cosmic orbit,
A falling star dancing on the Earth….
A comet searching for her contrail that will send her back into space