sine: the ballet, movement 2

bear the traces 

not too eagerly--

snort not, and blow not

like a stretch-nostrilled horse

ridden over a dry plain.

like underwater,

let all movements be 

secret in their strength. 

fluid and mock-ingenuous

though cracking,

crying

for lack of water.

the root searches deep.

let every bloom lack

nothing.

touch up

the painted broom,

and to each sunrise

add a waxen sheen.

ten thousand girls

on their backs, undulant:

nails dig sheets down

dry.

dry.

dry.

cosine: megaballet

the jointed bamboo stiff like still fingers in front of

the moon, grooved joints darker-pooled

ink shadow than the rest.

once again i hove to shore myself.  i had 

been out on a boat all the sunset.  washing

my face like a concerned parent with a blood

soaked cloth.  seeping into the lake too so that

i floated in red.  the sweet lilies daubed creamy 

pink like raw tuna.

the moon now like a raw pearl.  i tasted ash

on the air and looked to from whence it might

have come.

the leaves rustle.  the shafts of the plants

are tight-celled, smooth, cool.  i rest my hide

against them as once was done,

and my flesh

shivers.

meanwhile 

the boat is

gone again,

though the water's

still.