The Dancer 10, 11 /11



on Monte Albán the danzantes
sway to soft music
their shadows dance in and on stone
as they have danced for centuries

wind rustles the grass
moon casts sharp shapes

darkness ascends the temple steps
huge fingers grasping upwards
an owl’s feathers clutching at the skies

at dawn tomorrow
the sun will rise beneath our feet
we will squint down on its majesty
we will pluck the ripeness of its orange
in our outstretched hands


our last night together
I pluck a blossom from the tulipán tree
a final offering of my love

she gives it back
I place it in the pocket of flesh
where I once kept my heart

tomorrow when the flower breaks
it will stain my shirt
a damp splash of blood
no longer running in my veins

the scent of our happiness
will cling forever to my fingers

10 thoughts on “The Dancer 10, 11 /11

  1. Damn, did you write this one Roger? Very good and we love the picture. I’ve got a rough draft out for a short called eaten an Eskimo, I’m thinking about publishing it, but need an editor. Please come by and let us know what you think

    Liked by 1 person

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