Those Fates are fickle ones,
bubble bubble, rack and ruin
stand in the shadow of trouble,
and the rubble of plans drive
you something soon, but wax

wanes like night takes down
the fading Moon, puts it to bed
all hush till Eos rises radiant
relief, and raindrops pirouette
from Sun. I learned on Saturdays

across the sawdust floor, talc
tights, en pointe, en leotard,
pick a spot, focus, you spin
into something new, straight
ahead till morning's autumn hints,

of shut-down brilliance, time
for plans and gathering, a harvest
at last twilight drops a rainbow,
hung like a varigated gauze flag,
waving good night, sweet dreams.

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byAngeline© 5 comments/ 3970 views/ 0 favorites

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