It seems as if it was only last night’s moon, not the years tallied by finely etched lines about her eyes, always sapphire blue
It seems as if it was only last night’s whisper, playing the billowing lace silently inviting to brush a kiss upon her cheek, yet unspoiled
She hungers . . . ember flash, ember flit, shimmer, shine, show me . . . embracing the dance . . . embracing the dance
She remembers . . . She awoke to restless thoughts and the moonlight waltzing on the window pane. Shimmer, shine, show me, she heard her heart rustle. Open my window, and oblige your kith, welcome your kin.
She remembers . . . She heard the trill of no man’s flute, and followed it’s bidding to the belly of the wooded labyrinth. Then from shadow they came, Rushing, running, rustling, they came, braided and woven kin from threads of the earth.
She thirsts . . . a flicker, a flutter a shimmer, a shine . . . planted and sown . . . seeds of the dance
It seems as if she floated above a tangled web of ruddy heads and brazen arms, sightless in her trust. Laughing, but bewildered, she surrendered to the whims of her flight.
She remembers . . . They hissed “Take the blindfold off. Take if off. No feeble, no fainthearted kin have we. Take the blindfold off, and be what our kind would be.”
She dreams … a song, a sound a tone, a tongue, . . . what kind am I . . . what kin to me
We remember . . . We know . . . We know each babe of old blood born. We the keepers, the seers, who know the light in the darkness found under the stone. We the keepers, the seers, who hear the voice of the seed to be sown to the ground. We the keepers, the seers, who drink only of the heaven’s virgin rain. We the keepers, braided and woven from the threads of earth. We renew, we rejuvenate, We make new our burden through you . . . through you . . . through you . . . through you . . .
She remembers She ate apples ripe with nectar that drowned all fear in her heart, and she tasted the grape that fancied her mind, so she danced and danced to her transformation found in the fire. Danced and danced to the light found under the stone, and she wept embracing the dance.
It seems as if it was only yesterday’s light that graced her pale cheek as her weary head lay on the sill, and her sapphire eyes gleamed an unnatural hue. Her auburn tresses tempted the breeze.
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Slender hands braid the long gray locks, and offer a tender touch to a weathered cheek. She stops to give a weightless kiss. “Mama, what are you thinking?”
Just a whisper. “The dance, daughter. . . . Embrace the dance.”
And their eyes, blue, like no man’s blue, look deep into the belly of the wood.
jeanne rene 9/03 _________________ "In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer." -Albert Camus
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Reviews of "embracing the dance "
Reviewed by Jerry Andrews (Reader)
Reviewed on June 9, 2006
A fine poem, like a lovely flowing dream that explains all you ever need to know about the earth and the woods and the creatures representing your feelings of love and wonder and intrigue and the need to become one with them. I know that need and treasure it. You should read my poem Willow and you might like Old Souls, too. Thanks for the pleasure, Jeanne Rene. Jerry Andrews
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