More poetry from my social media sabbatical. This one began at the Laity Lodge artists retreat with Mako Fujimura, David Taylor, and Brian Moss.
Mrs. Moss Dances
Across the room between the heads
of people, someone dances worship
an art that surprises every time
her arms extend a DaVinci spread
then tumble silent below
this man’s shoulder. Legs kick
the air and she might complete
the dive, part tension at the stone
floor’s surface, disappear
into the library downstairs,
thigh-kicking phrases behind here
with straight-legged strokes.
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I love the part about her maybe disappearing, as if her dive were going to put her straight through the floor.
Such a fluid image.
I forwarded this on to the Moss family (er, the Iowa part of the family anyway. Friends of ours … )
A lovely picture you’ve drawn here.
To put a dance into words takes a great sense of identification with the dancer. Beautiful poem.
nice. i wonder how many poems are written across a crowded room…..
i love dancing….i can see the dance through your words
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