In obsidian night,
city sirens spew raucus cascades of portentous jangle -
unlikely decibels,
which edge against her spirit sense of movement.

Florid white of limbs and downy sole flights
reel overhead -
our guilt, frames
in torrid windows,
transfiguring us.
These intricacies of perfect pirouette, she embodies
A toe-out, trailing neon crimson air from the topless bar across the street;
her sinews ripple resilient...holy.

She
fixes,
her swan song encased in the Master of Ceremonies caste iron staging,
the apartment window backlights her
escape?


SHE
balances
before

-our moment of conflagrant consumption ---
ill formed, WE harden in this kiln valley of urban brick,
our mold coarsely contrasts to her porcelain perfection.
It is We who crack
in the fire of her seamless performance.

MX