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.