Poetry: Reborn

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It is the weight of a feather, a turn

Of the head, the lean difference between

A moment of beauty and an instance

Of sinking apathy, the dancing flame

Burns still the next minute and all seems lost

When she moves into the darkness, reborn.

The hard rhythms of music inspire

Sharper angles, unpredicted profiles,

Rapid breathing. In one slow turn she owns

All my perception, all of my senses,

And like a leopard I lie very still

In wonder of all that is possible

Aching to spring into pure ecstasy

When she moves out of the darkness, reborn.

Photo Credit: © Andrei Sajenko | Dreamstime.com

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