We dance within these shadowed walls,
plies to grand jetes unlock our flight,
ready to serve the violin’s exultant bow.
Swathed in tule and mastering footfalls
in canvas, worn to craft the pantomime,
we dance within these shadowed walls.
Maestro commands above our birdcall,
lilting over ashen light, a morning sky.
Ready to serve the violin’s exultant bow.
Ribbons black adorning teacup shawls,
binding lithe bodies, nevermore leave for greener pine?
We dance within these shadowed walls,
of ancient stone, they must be the safest of all.
Windows talk to fledglings with lonely eyes,
ready to serve, the violin’s exultant bow.
In the sweeping palm is Rio, Paris, Montreal,
and Rome. To train feathers that do not lie,
we dance within these shadowed walls.
Our home so familiar, yet still
it stings to swallow the rosebush lullaby:
To dance within these shadowed walls,
is to serve the violin’s exultant bow.
Flâneuse from aus 