fingerprints on ivory.
sound so used to the dancer's ear that it blends into
until caught in a swell on the arm, at the curve of the spine, in the hushed vacuum between heartbeats.
until her muscles float,
hugged by twisting veins, sustained by an oxygen tide, buoyed by notes floating through air
and whatever it is between those notes that she
cannot see but feel.
until her heart wakes up and sees its reflection in melody,
hears its voice in movement,
feels a vibration that extends from toe to eyelash,
that shakes her cup of tears so that they spill over and
to settle in her throat.
sound turned to steam and sweat
hums from her skin.
Have you seen Chodakowska's fountain sculptures? They are stunning.