And Here We Dance...

She tilts her head

In delightful laughter

While words like Sicily and Rome

Roll off her lips

As if they were

Her summer homes

And so they have been

Held between fingertips

As she turns the pages

In a scene

Of people and marketplaces

Where she has stood on shaded terraces

To watch the sun set

Over rolling vineyards

He comes to her now

Against the cool blue

Mediterranean backdrop

But poetry is not enough

To bridge the ocean

Or the deserts

Between hunger and love

Though her throat is parched

With burning of necessity

She is sandwiched

Between tumbled Canadian sky

And golden bars of sunlight

Sprawled across umber fallow

In the encroaching eventide

They dance; Sinatra knows every word

To her thoughts

And eyes will always speak more openly

Than the ineptness of speech

As she feels his heartbeat

Against her chest

In mutual anguish

And tenderness

For imminent departure

Is surely love’s

Most passionate threshold

Nobody visits this lighthouse

It is too late and too cold

They have all night to dance

And say good-bye.

She closes the book...

The clock in the tower strikes nine

J~