The Floating Waltz, a poem

As if your feet are
Drowned into a seabed,
The fluff above
flutters and trips
Against the dumb-struck blue,

Like cracks of dry sunlight
Twisting atop a river’s
Hip-shaking ripple.

Every trailing puff links
Arm and leg with another,
An endless wreath
Of sky-high waltzes.

Their slow churning
Knows nothing
Of the gasping madness
That encapsulates
Them
Below.

Even when they
Being to gasp for breath,
Smothering themselves
In thorn-like panic,

The serene dance
Will float on,
For a waltz,
With no sound,
Need not cease.

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One thought on “The Floating Waltz, a poem

  1. Pingback: Another Month’s Worth of Poetry (December) | Frambles

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