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She dances in the aisle, a vision bright,
Yet more a dream than flesh of mortal grace.
Her anklets strike a tune in silver light,
And all the dark is bound to song and space.
She sways as if the shadows were her veil,
A living myth in gold and moonlit gleam.
Each motion spins a verse, begins a tale
Of truths the stars would perish to redeem.
I spoke with one I love on distant wire,
A voice that burned like embers in the frost.
But now she comes, a storm of mute desire,
And love returns in forms I thought were lost.
She speaks no word, yet every glance she sends
Ignites the dusk where all enchantment ends. |
