Danny James

Tag: dance

173

It rained some, light and fine. And I knew beyond the areal dance of dew and mists evanesce shone a working Sun, that didn’t at all mind and finds never its own energy or any, reason to worsen. Only recedes but with grace into the afterward, as must we if bests our fellows untempered. There is free latitude for all who take no segments but yields entirety, and dazzling arcs of colour perhaps the blending talents allow.

114: Going

This is the last night in your own bed for some time, and there is an alveolus melancholy unfolds your repose; when strange pillows will nestle ambling thoughts. But you’ve craved long this new trouble, like secrets of saccharose, and must let wash over you its mastery implied. The stars now will hold your dreams, and bid vault thee loose of tethers customs, into the intimate revolution on the other side of a threshold toward infinity. But one fine sleep now walls your wildness, and soon enough at hand will it be, the going hour. Some know this feeling, of calm supra cusp; the breath on Winters window. Ripeness broiling at the fringe, at the steps of High School Balls. Poised withal, the upright young woman going to her first dance under the lights.

71: Watching Winter

This old bench has braved the changes, and, perhaps for its lonely place has long enchanted me to sit and share in its story, or receptivity learn. Under strained Apollo’s grace, reacquainting myself with a Winter scene when playful Aurae dance upon the atmosphere with jovial abandon, weaving and brushing glassy chimes whose tickled laughter is symphony of children’s revelry. The arterial bough that splits the sky has long ago cast off her lush ribbons and contented seeming with her nakedness displayed, owns a most essential refinement that nature consents yet ever struggles humanity against. We too, in due season must, without arrogance our gifts receive, and surrender them without strife.

28

Our tide for merry-making is nearly over and mere ashes of our evening revels will tomorrow lament, while you still sit hence and fret upon your silent instrument, but longing deny your sacred brilliance, the dance that has long been bare without your fair song.