|
| melancholy |
| she wears her melancholy well |
| if fits her like a twilight satin dress |
| that, clinging to her spirit in a tight embrace |
| would vulnerably leave |
| her soul exposed and bare for all to see |
| she's stunning seen in little more |
| than nightfall shadows blue on midnight black |
| her dusky hair arranged in gentle disarray |
| she looks on life's account |
| with eyes that mirror darkgray autumn skies |
| she's learned to move in graceful steps |
| upon the dancefloor of her life's abyss |
| in fluent wariness her feet seek stable ground |
| her shoulders draped in shade |
| she'll meet your gaze: this dance is hers alone |
| © Jon Bohrn (1998) |
