Dedicated To Alla Gallagher
I open the door to dawn.
Alone in the park,
Under a gnarled bough
Still filled with night,
A silver-haired woman
Makes beautiful gestures.
She dances a script
That is sculpting the air.
I grant an audience,
For this ballet has consequence.
She raises an arm precisely so,
While bending a knee:
Trees shake with wings,
And birds sing cacophonies.
She rights her limbs to listen,
But a purpose forbids that she smile.
My favor is my time.
By correcting her stance,
She reaches to the heavens,
Unclenching her hands, palms upward:
Light sweeps over the whole of the park.
Tree-leaves glitter. Birds take flight.
She kneels to apples of gold at her feet.
I open my arms in a blessing of praise,
More royal than a king for having seen–
April 7, 2009
April 12, 2009
April 26, 2009