She waits in dark
Tense for adrenalin and pace
Paint sticking to powdered skin
Legs the bent bow that calls the chord
When discipline meets grace
They don’t see the sweat on her neck
Or her mind racing with her feet
The clenched blistered toes on splintered block
Unnaturally meshed
The secret of a spell
Shrouded in satin and thread

They won't see her as she is
Poised on the shadowed stage
Slave to the hovering cry when bow strokes string
That cues her arms to rise
The light to blind her painted eyes
They don’t see the French names and vowels
Surgical and dry
But wave sliding over startled sand
Impossible and wide
River seeping into earth
It's ripple growing until gone
She’ll rise
She’s risen
A spark spat by the pulsing embers
A tiger or unwound spring
Wild instinct and man made precision
They won’t see the dancer
They will see the dance