The Dancer and I

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[Editor’s Note: To experience the fullness of this poem as it was intended, please see the PDF below]

As I watch, astonished, 

what I hunger for 
is not what I know I 
cannot do 

but for this cocksure witness 
to what I know some 
other human being 
can: 

            The summoning 
of summer to a song 
the color of plum 
to a line 

                        the translation 
   to the mother tongue 
   of what there is 
   in flight. 

                                                Following 
        the dancer 

                        the cascade of 
                           discipline 
                                and 
                                    abandon 
                                         like the trill 
                                                 of an impossible note

I am consumed by beauty. 

But it is not envy 
nor even desire 
that engages me:         All 
                        is a lifting 
                            by the tongues of bells 

Here.               Now. 

Toes    buttocks  fingers    instincts
tingle with places to hold 
and take off from 

knowing for once 

How!