The Grain Of Sand That Everything Is In

For Fanny Sage

Hania, these words are born from
a mood you produce, an illumination.
Though unable to express a poem for you yet,
see how a true artist brings others their inspiration.

Immersing melancholy, F Major lures you in,
Iceland the theatre where this drama places.
Sands sweep in, wind tunnel rapids, 
three lay bare their souls, Fates or Graces?  

In sequence each moves, ease and poise,
never a moment of doubt, ever fluent, 
no foot, arm, or movement misplaced, 
no balance missed, no single second fluctuant.

One by one, individual spirits,
I stand in awe of all three, 
as an expression of this artform for which
my love is growing, uplifting, enlightening, free.

Yet this here is for you, Fanny. 
Atropos or likely joyous Thalia.
Your body is a semaphore,
what language do you dance it in?

You are swift, swallow, martin. Oiseau,
dart, dip, swoop. Fingers are your wings.
Sign this flight, though I struggle to comprehend,
I appreciate pure beauty when it sings.

Your fingers touch your lips, pulling forth
unspoken words, expressed with certain harmony.
This need to interpret, to know you:
the expression of your autonomy.

To pick a single instant, elemental:
when you lean back and wear the wind,
becoming the landscape, the weather,
you, the grain of sand that everything is in.

We seek a solace in our lives we have 
mis-constructed. Somewhere to escape anew
when all else seems pointless.  With grace, now,
I have you. Soothing, exciting, inspiring and true.

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Photo: Porthkidney, Cornwall, 2022. Nikon d750

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