A tiny gypsy turning under a sky
of many colors, a sky of mind
filled with a bronze sun, gleaming.
Above and beyond all music
all silence, in a place, azure and white
moving in a dance of light on water.
Trailing streamers, silver and wisps of white,
turning in, around, over and through
undulating like reeds in the current.
At the center of her movement,
an allusion, a horizon,
a vector she points to but never touches
a place, a shadow realm
that she can see with her hands and feet
A place I can only touch on the edge of sleep,
the room I pass through
before I fall soundlessly into the sky
where, perchance, I dream her delicately turning
above a mother of pearl box,
quietly singing the music the stars
alive in the ebon velvet of a midnight sky.