Bowed heads, soft tapping feet
and a chorus of notes left behind,
it embraced the still trees
flicking at their slumber with the song it had drunk
and moved with the speed of unstoppable hope
bounding over an unkempt lawn
coming to a stop
at a lighted door
Impatient to drizzle, its music dripped
down the window bars
till it pooled
at the feet of the occupant
of the window seat

————————-
Your feet tangled briefly, you couldn’t get up or let go
You wrote to me right then
Yet you never enclosed my truant note

The Dance.

No one is at the shore
The lone dancer sways
her waist, a curving wave
the roar of the sea in her beat
a dance on mossy rocks
on the surf
on crushed shells
on sand
her bare toe sketching,
embedding him in earth
her fingers stretching
plucking all that was n/ever hers

She created deer, flowers, hills, lakes and spring
around an echo of a footfall
that never fell on her shores

The dance exists untamed
in places you never thought to look
perfected in solitude

—————–
Neither the music nor the dance
could create a home for themselves
Every note, every move
follows the only tune I know

one that you played upon my last string
before the gale carried away the bow.

©Reena Prasad