Phantom Dance

“You will never be set free, as long as I’m a ghost that you can’t see”.  Gordon Lightfoot


The moon glides its notes,

plays do si do loosely with clouds.


The moon fiddles,

casts strings on breaking waves,


makes communion.

She punctuates the treble clef


with her body

drumbeats on the beach


with her feet.

Palm trees sing percussion


through wind.

Natural music moves through her,


vibrates electric,

compels her to spell


with her hands

what she hears


with a strange sign language.

A primordial silhouette


urges her to dance with phantoms.

It is not


a union one usually writes about

with such transparency.


She does not give her heart

to silent ones lightly.


She clutches a candle

in her hands,


yet does not seek the art of precision.

She leaves that to other invisible ones.


If grace finds her

she will put her to bed


in white sheets when ready.

She scrawls notes


into the sand

with a series of pirouettes.


“The tide always turns,”

it says.


~ by dianeklammer on April 26, 2013.

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