She was dancing. Moving tidal hands

out and back. Her neck swayed like a

windy willow branch; sideways, over

and around, she conquered all the air.

Barefoot on October sidewalks. A royal

scarf Isadora Duncan would have loved.

Paisley red orange blue skirt. A bandana

with beads tipped releasing Christmas noise.

She smiled at everyone, without return.

A city bus grinds out on go. She waves.

Miniature brass bells on her belt

cast out sounds from her dancing space.


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