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She Danced For Him
by
Chris Ingham
In
his eternal night she danced for him.
Her hands, sensuously, delicately
Touching her hair, touching her breasts,
Drew him ever, gently, enticingly,
Into her poem of imagination.
He
has seen her rushing through autumn dawns,
Down half glimpsed streets, silent, deserted,
Except for the grey morning men
Who sweep away the remnants of sweet nights
Ever lost in sordid awakenings.
He
has sat with her in midday cafes
Amidst falling leaves, goldenly sunbright,
Rustling beneath her restless feet.
Her fingers, long, have absently touched his,
And he has seen a smiling eyed promise.
He
will stand, grey coated, hunched, alone.
The miss you midwinter midnight moment
Held in the diffused streetlight spot
Where she stood with him, stage left, briefly,
Her footfall echoing his confusion.
And
he!
He must let her go,
Content to watch her dance
Into the limelight
Centre stage.
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