The sky is still and white
The sky is white and still
over the frozen ground.
Nothing is expected.
My
fingertips
are cymbal bells. Tiny flowers
bloom in the wilderness of my hair.
Everything asleep in the cold ground
waits for the drum and jangle
of my foot fall.
I dance the return. I dance the waking. I dance
color, flinging sparks of blue,
and green and ruby red to seed
the hush. Their pure flame
petals my heart.
The sky is still and white.
I am dancing.
