Theatrical she dances past me,
in a swirl of gaze and smile.
and I say - "buenos dias senorita" -
before she glances beyond my eyes.
she laughs, the theatre rebounds, once more
with applause,
a thousand hands speaking.
where she holds them -
she holds the stage
she holds the audience.
and they lean through
tiny specks of dust,
smaller than a grain of fire
sparkling upon her skin.
does she appear smug?
firm in knowledge
fleet of mind
knowing she has what they want.
cry, cry, cry
fall, fall, fall
and never come back
Tuesday 16th September, 1997
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The Bard's Inn