She is dancing she is dancing
for you. Are you watching?
Can you see the music she hears echoes
you, only you? Water to wine; each note
held too long your eyes fixed on her and
every dizzying crescendo the high warbling
tale of you the bird outside her window told
the flowers this morning.
And you must have known she’d love
you, eventually, so what now?
Prima ballerina, she spins faster, rooted to
her china pedestal by the anchor of you.
You, who sits in the gilded box; shrouded
in darkness – imperceptible,
uninterpretable until – yes, the cymbal
of your clap rings out. She gets up and walks.
She exits, enters again – hungry for
proximity – that poisoned indulgence – and
now she is acting she is acting
for you. How should I your true love know?
and wherefore art thou Romeo? With
eyes as solemn as the stretching sky she looks
imploringly to your box and cries, The eve is nigh,
the crowd is gone, you always were the only one.