Balanchine

Balanchine

you go to the ballet to discover

not to be a show-off balletomane

who names the steps for you and slides backstage

you go to look and stare till the stage glows

with the beauty of the ballet goddess

who dances the music, blooms in the air,

don’t ask what  she means, you don’t read roses,

you enjoy her gestures in music time

music moves in muscles physically

you enjoy seeing what the sound looks like

the speed grace and motion of the moment
it disappears like the last butterfly