Pointe

By A. Liz

They glide across the floor like

swans on the surface.

Light, bodies of feathers, so slim

and soundless

except for the wooden clack of the toe

Reminding us that

Yes.

They are human. Which

makes them even more fantastic and unreal.

They bend and twist and

fly, beyond limitations and laws.

Human, but more. More

beautiful. More

graceful. More

lonely. Always practicing, never

stopping -birds constantly in flight.

But at least people look

at them, gawk and stare and

admire them as they take

Off. Not me, though. I sit

on the stagnant water,

watching.