S.B.T. 391

the dance

secret breezes true as dirt

weaving thru the tall grass 
blowin in the wind
time ribbons seen twisting 
through the corner of the eye

only tei-walls between these rooms, 
in the shadow silent steps, a rice-paper craft 
whose tiptoe ways were gained at night,

as much quiet 

as possible 

while in motion

chancing freedom, beg your pardon adventure
chancing danger, we never dreamt of it, 
only of the deep wood under the soaring stars 
along the night's whispering trails. 

a sunrise-colored strip of satin swirled, 
a dance partner in perfect grace

turn to step in time, turn turn turn en pointe, 
spotting to focus on a face,
a picture a scene a hook where slippers hang...

deep bow and curtsy.

(red and gold, candle-light behind silk embroidered panels, softly merges in passing, giving just enough glow to see the way.)