the beauty in the being

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she says she can't dance
as she does piqué turns, plies and lunges, 
escapes, behind her eyes,
away from me into another world.
​
​her external acrobatics
reflect not what's within
but that unreachable song
beyond -
the place the music carries her,
away from me into another world.

and she laughs, says she can't
move to music inside her anymore,
but the drum I beat gets her to tap her foot,
move in a circle, do a pirouette,

and soon she and I
are twirling misty loops
​in the morning fog,
and she says she can
maybe - just once more -
dance as if the world fell away.

it is only us 
and the sand beneath our naked toes
touching crisp wet ocean,
until she's carried behind her eyes,
away from me into another world.

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