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Rain DanceTurning, as real, into recognition, Tracing a memory fade, Racing the slow open braide, Yet if once to remain, Then the coming of rain, Replaced, image of moment. One shape then another, a host behind, And stillness as she moves. The forward merging form, Realizing no distinction. Lined over blue, once against the background. Colour from the bottom. And as she walks, the eyes, As always to watch the outside. And never a turn to face, that gone by, known in time together. As aware to before, For only the whole, to be real. No brighter upon, shined the last revealed. Opened for a moment, So none shall see at all, And still be there, when all have gone. Turning, as real, into recognition, Tracing a memory fade, Facing the darkest parade. And the man at the head, Turned a glance never said, "Maybe you another day." |
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