he twirled.
a boy
in his feet, dancing
dancing and singing to see me.
No -
- not singing -
singe-ing - he turns to flame
before my eyes.
i see it all; nothing is lost
on the attentive poet.
my ear lays always against the track,
i never move it; particularly when it hurts.
his feet betrayed him, he danced
as if to swear me off -
a ghost dance
for a white woman
fearsome, prescient, lost
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