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Sonnet To A Beautiful Dancer, A Little Over Eighteen Years Old
Adolescent dancer, glide onto this page,
where you need not concede to any fears;
nor stoop to silly questions about your age---
that artifice of designation at all of eighteen years.
Clad only in sweatpants, feet and torso bare,
without the ungainly features of common-suited clothes,
that coif of long, straight, softly silken hair
in a profuse cascade, down to your slender waist, flows.
Each motion of your body---every posture, and step, and stance---
radiates like a star, in a choreographer's cosmology;
rhythmic, you move through the delicate lines of dance
of an ancient, exquisitely erotic, translated poetry.
Haters' fury will be confined to shadowed, steel-barred cage
when you premiere your beauty on a private, and pastel, stage.
Starward
