To A Dancer

by Aidan Andrew Dun

TAD4 mm

Translation that races
along the sky at dawn
white music where
rain slides backward
feathered language
compelling the sun
who will tell your
legend in the morning?

Along the canal steep
towers of perfume;
and an essence washed
down in the night
warm yellow dust
transports us with
laughter to unknown
celebrations with water-music.

Here is a bird which speaks
to passers-by, rider of black
skies speaking in riddles;
here is a boat that was
hauled through dark
sleep to be docked in
circular ports of sunrise.

O majestic decision
you brought us here:
it was your golden engine
heard in the wind.
Today it is sacred
to remember nothing
to look to the present time
which is far ahead.