note .

How I’m moved

By the wonder of

The written word

Of information

And the way she

Dances around me

Books tweets

Scrawls in notebooks

In images and in

Memories shes like

A Moroccan dancer

On an evening

In Marrakesh

Shadows slip

From wall

To soft dirt

that layered

The under foot

Candle light

Flickers from

Each table

And she is

Cast in a new

Light as her

Body spins

And unfurls

Spins and

Unfurls and

Again and again

Gold baubles hanging

From her silk

Garments flowing

With the energy

Of her movements

Orange light bounces

Back at onlookers

As she pivots

Between left

And right

Gyrating her

Hips swinging

Them freeingly

As does a child

Swing themself

For the first time

On a playground

In New York

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