Pirouette – a poem by Cynthia Pitman

Pirouette

Don’t sing me your songs
of slow-melting scrimshaw
of time found uncounted
of rain-draining clouds
of wind-flown sky-falls
of drowning the desert
of vanishing points
that won’t go away.

Don’t tell me your stories
of rock salt sleigh bells
of winds that won’t blow
of microscopes sliding
of far-flung highways
of slow-slung snow globes
of birds that can’t sing
and brides that won’t stop.

Don’t cry me your sorrows
of love here and never
of sun-setting dawns
of bright unlit starlight
of moons without rings
of curves of ashes
of empty boxes
of half-eaten peaches.

Don’t ask me your questions:
why red shoes?
why stone cold?
why scattered seeds?
why loops of lamplight?
why caves of incense?
why blown glass?
why gone glory?

Just leave me alone.
I’m dancing the Divine.

 

Cynthia Pitman has had poetry published in Amethyst Review, Right Hand PointingThird Wednesday, Leaves of Ink, Vita Brevis, Ekphrastic ReviewLiterary YardAdelaide Literary Magazine, Postcard Poems and Prose, and Mused: Bella Online. Her first book of poetry, The White Room, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books.

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