The ballerina tries to take warm steps on the cold stone.
She tries to dance like a flame; to be heat amongst ridgid walls.
The halls are too large for her dance.
There are many shadows covering her actions.
Much stillness over balancing her movement.
Outside there is mist & there are memories in the mist.
It’s vague recalling descend in a clouded mystery that has puzzled you before.
The old churches, reflections on glass stains, the silence of the light swirling familiar rhythms surging through the body having been experienced once before.
Snow is on the city, recurring forgetful birth of re-hiding hills that could be watching if they do not look.
I am several steps tracing around a floor that is like the street, akin to the seedy ground.
I am in distance constant.
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