Pavane

The birds turn and sweep
cortholt and drum swell
the figure tightens and turns

Dancers leave, return
smile and nod

At dusk, the games begin
offered a red sleeve she wanders
toward the shingle

And the music in the woods
rattles on, and laughter
bright as silver, as crystal

A heart given, a heart received
twice over in the slow sweet
dance of soon




jjl
31 March 2008