Jazz Dancer
balancing
brassy bronze
jazz sax solos
with your
ballet shoes
Notes in the air
scoop up
your feet
and you dance
on
beams of wood
and
bars of music
Ah, there you are,
Spinning en pointe…
En garde, my heart!
(but I’ve already lost this fight;
in fact, I’ve taken a dive for love)
In your movements
I hear Beale Street
In your eyes I see
Storyville
and
Birdland
and
Paris
Your feet write rhythms
Your hands transpose keys
Your elegant fingers twirl them
together into something
Transcendent and Divine
You are a
Jazz Dancer
and I
a mere mortal
crying with gratitude
at the
Miracle
you’ve given
me.
A musical treat, my friend.
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Hahaha Thanks. Yeah, I love my dancers.
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