​The Ballet Dancer

because she had to learn to see
                 beyond the light,
            beyond the movement
        stranded by its language
because she had to learn to believe nothing
                   could change her
            cleave a room
        memorize its shadows,
                    be still for the empty
                stage, say dance, 
            say dance anyway
because there was two pictures in her locket 
                once a pair of wings 
        and now a hollow
    absence, a thunderstorm
    a crash and then an echo
because she had to learn to love 
                the right knot, the perfect stitch
            the only prayer that could keep
    a pointe shoe tethered to flying
    feet and dizzying air
because she had to learn to dance daggers
                on horizon lines, her breath rasping
            like diamonds against her throat
    flicker-quick hands, a moon 
    between her fingers
because sometimes, when she spun
            her heart in spotlight,
        there was perfect stillness,
a delineated diction, 
a fleeting hope