I want to say you dance and burn, that you move like fire,
But in fueling my single-minded poet's desire,
Your smoke has clouded my eyes, obscured with haze
The long-apparent fact that you move all sorts of ways.
You wind a river's walk, with its purposeful power.
Your hands move like honeybees – playful arcs toward a flower.
You dance like windblown leaves, but if the metaphor's played out,
You dance like glare on the ocean: bright, fluid, ebbing about.
Your tongue moves like metal music: precise, direct and quick:
Unflinching, and just-enough rough-edged to make any point you wish.
Stepping back, I wish you'd be still long enough to hear these words brave:
All your movements echo what I admire or crave.
But in fueling my single-minded poet's desire,
Your smoke has clouded my eyes, obscured with haze
The long-apparent fact that you move all sorts of ways.
You wind a river's walk, with its purposeful power.
Your hands move like honeybees – playful arcs toward a flower.
You dance like windblown leaves, but if the metaphor's played out,
You dance like glare on the ocean: bright, fluid, ebbing about.
Your tongue moves like metal music: precise, direct and quick:
Unflinching, and just-enough rough-edged to make any point you wish.
Stepping back, I wish you'd be still long enough to hear these words brave:
All your movements echo what I admire or crave.
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