She arches to a distant melody,
And shifts her feet, then bare upon the floor,
In smiling rhythm, stepping slow and free
Out from a sea of dust. There washed ashore,
Imagination drenches her in gloss
That, on her naked shoulders, leaves its touch,
A scarcely-felt caress. She feels the loss
Of light, the lines of rain, the frozen clutch
Of sternly-silenced fancy, yet she sways
In cold and clinging motion, lips apart
And turning to a smile while it plays:
That fading symphony. Within her heart,
She long to slip, for garments spun of rain,
The clothes she wakes to wearing once again.
4 comments:
Well... it's a sonnet.
I believe this is one of my favorites for what it says and what it doesn't say. It reminds me of days gone by and daydreams lost.
It's interesting how the pieces we authors most readily deplore can be seen so superb by other eyes. This is so very beautiful and laden with the imagery that seems to ever make your sonnets exquisite. Mayhap the title could be less intriguing, but the sonnet itself is wonderful, I think. It seems to marvelously convey an ethereal moment with the perfect metaphor of a female, delightfully depicts reality that how many know, though literature's apt guise. Not bad in the least.
I think I may have misjudged this sonnet.
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