And You dance around in the living room
on Your private beam of sunlight
A childhood ballerina in skirt and slippers
The Eyes sparkle as You lean over
and let the flowers kiss Your mouth
before You float out of the room and in to the garden
I sit and watch You
Watch how You follow the same steps
I once took in the waltz of magic
years before You even existed as an idea
Like in a silent movie You move between plants
tall as trees and hidden behind the transparent membrane of the window
A small gust of wind in the first glimpse of the early part of summer
hidden in cap and gloves
and so stuffed with energy
that sheer will can be seen in Your contour
And while I'm sitting by the stove
writing letters to eternity
I feel it with utmost certainty
You will manage tomorrow, with a scent of camomile
