Seeking the Feet

Mark Turbyfill

In the twilight
The ballet cries
For the lost symmetry:
The moving gems,
The facets etched,
The angles fleet.

Brisés, bright wings stretched;
Entrechat six,
Sharp as the sickle,
Brief as intuition;
Port de bras, dreams arising.

O swift steps,
Seeking the feet
In which to flower,
Where are the worshipers
To glorify your names?