Silver – stanza 8

They say it’s a matter of will, a refusal
To accept death, in particular, that allows
Someone to persist beyond the grave
And then occupy a living being, a drop
Of essence forming and falling into the mouth
How do I believe that, isn’t it completely absurd
What proof could there be, except perhaps
In having two memories of the same day
Allison’s journal begins with a dream
And a strange compulsion to write about it
A compulsion almost as strong as her desire
To dance, a dream where a drop formed
In the air and fell into her open mouth
With a rush of quiet voices in chorus declaiming
And the feeling that everything is possible
So I am to believe that the Allison I know
And danced with is somehow possessed
By the woman described dying in the shadow
Of the Reformation, although since I first
Heard of Allison, everyone has been telling
Me that she seemed to come out of nowhere
A mediocre but serious local dancer
Seemingly destined for chorus roles
Rose into prominence without warning
Dancing above her ability and training
Making moves, they say, she never should
Have been able to make, and I have
Rehearsed and performed with her
Her technique is unparalleled and expressive

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
This entry was posted in books, fiction, literature, novels, personal, poetry, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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