It's only a far distant dream to be a dancer.
By the window a ballerina is posed.
Left leg bent slightly, for balance.
Right leg stretched, parallel with her arms.
Back is poised straight like a pole
stuck in the snow.
Her eyes are downcast, chin up, delicate hands
and right foot pointed perfect
just barely touching the wooden floor.
Body delicate as glass,
but strong as stone.
Perfection is the key to her airy craft
that will fit into the lock
of her perfect jump, pose, move, landing.
Concentration fills her face,
she’s in study.
I gaze and wonder at her high elegance.
How does she perform so well?
Graceful, flawless, very vigorous.
It’s a wish, but I know it’s
only a dream.