I’ve seen you gloat
o’er flimsy, fluttering dreams.
Your wings so feebly flaunting,
uttering promises,
incarnated freshly in your flesh-
as a dying swan.
Are you drowned in sorrow,
bound by silence’s chain,
or lifted by joy,
where memory leaves no stain?
Your stares so hearty,
so tranquil at sight-
any ripples in your eye,
could tear such silent cacophony.
And when you look into my eyes
cruel, cruel chasms of holy chime-
I see no words lying still behind
but I know I see you,
your image ghostly hovering o’er
my shuddering, fluttering eyes.
Note from poet:
the poem addresses my ballet teacher, who had to retire from Shanghai Ballet Theatre after a serious back injury during pas de deux practice.