Poetry: Lines


The choreographer in meditation

Thought of lines, how it all comes back to lines:

Not geometry, not the art-class lines

Creating cheap horizons, but bold lines

Of energy, rhythm battling rhythm,

Intersecting through intent rather than

Inevitable science. As I watch

The dancers paint the movement with bodies

Sacrificed to expression, I cherish

The meaning: without words, without a need

For the hard labor of explanation,

Without interference in this moment

Of blessed suspension where I feel lines

Dancing far beyond dumb comprehension.

© Zeelias65 | Dreamstime.com

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