a descent into poetry insanity |
| she lifts her head, confident that her dance will surpass acceptability. she is perfect in her craft, although she seems very young as I see her, a figure cast in bronze, shimmering with sound from the bangles on her arms, poised to dance, and I know, in that city without walls, whose name is vanished into the mound of river mud it was buried under, she knew her worth. and it was great. line count: 18 Author's Note ▶︎ |