The dancer’s feet adapt their shape to whatever position she bends them into,
And I am reminded of how clumsy and awkward mine are –
In comparison and on their own.
The brightness of her spirit would put the sun to shame,
Challenge even quasars to defend their astronomical power,
For she is as open and free as the universe itself.
The dancer’s life lies in her feet,
Laced up in a perfect bow,
Adapting to whatever position asked of them,
Bloody and broken when too much is commanded,
But still, she holds the bar with grace.
Her turns are reminiscent of celestial orbits,
Her routines exploding from subtle to brilliant to precise end
Like I am watching a nebula, gorgeous in its own right,
Begin to become a star and suddenly exploding to a red supergiant,
Where words fail to describe how magnificent, how impressive,
And billions of moments later but all too soon, dwindling down
To a red dwarf, a white dwarf who’s used itself up to create beauty.
It feels itself fading but refuses to be underestimated,
A glorious supernova that demands applause.
She dreams of being a star,
Not realizing she was born one.
Atoms of star stuff, gasses that shaped the universe
And decided she was a worthy reincarnation.