I was glad of not learning to drive
avoiding speeding by the dead of the road
carrying their burdens
I was glad of not seeing clearly
when I hid my glasses and peered blearily
at a world that forsook kindness
I sat in my folding chair with velvet back
that if you stood up too quickly would snap
into place like a well taught puppet
folds into the wall and closes her face
to the scurry of humanity sweating down-wind
we all radiated for the dancer
struck by her elongation
making paper figures of her thin fingers in articulated bow
her long neck stretched from years of looking upward
years I had been staring at my feet learning to grovel
she had the beatific smile of a winter princess
stuck on her unfurling like the sun makes majesty of dawn
whilst I hid myself in plain sight beneath the irrasible itch
watching her move was like dancing inside places I kept shut
she was my muse and I,
nothing but a person watching in the dark of theatre
to be replaced by the next spectator
wishing she had the courage to be
something more than aching
to dance on stage, unfolding to heaven
with the grace of courage smiling in the wings
she wasn’t scared to live
to feel
to be