roulette dancing

This poem earned my first acceptance letter. It came from Verses Magazine in 1996. Now it’s the ephemera you see here.

ghost light/ little ballerina dressed in nothing

winter’s child/ her cold feet are shuffling

onto a stage of canon darkness

whereas a blank canvas each crowd is artless

words were said/ she said he said

let’s dance a symphony through silken bed

aside the red vintage the velveteen curtain holds pose

pulled stage-side on cue/ on cue emotions rose

god or his angels/ she dances to distract

the weight of his universe heavy on her back

and roulette dances by herself/ without a care

with one wineglass that two could share

words were said/ she said he lied

the crowd applauded/ but the theatre died

while behind the curtain a final bow is burned

and one last encore takes its turn

ghost passing/ winter dancing/ but no one ever saw