Tavye Neese




For the Dancers

Blessings for those who have no belief
in ground, only sky keeping them upright,
their feet wearing away the tongue of gravity.

Praise for your undulations, how even in your still
moments your reflex is to rise,
become a thing of skin, wing.

Bless your abdomen, its navel spinning
into blatant eye
staring at the sun, forbidden and bright.