A dance in three movements.
All of expression is here, from rhythmic rise to
syncopated sway. To flow again.
Beneath, a gentle roll presses on tide-scoured stones.
Borne aloft by a lunar score.
Above is the floating hang; the
breath before the crescendo.
At the pinnacle, spume- tossed sprites waltz, then
pirouette in to nothingness.
All the more beautiful at their passing.
Copyright Tom Tide 2016