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.