The Dancer

on her stage, at
her own wish, and
in her own dream,
she stripped
with a helpless smile
to a lonely trumpet
and a lonelier crowd.

the dancer
with
the blue whip
lick–
naked in her promise,
alone in her desire,
moved
in a desperate
ballet
that was understood
by no
body–
and still
we sat with grins
to our knees.

i cried
for her, for her bruises
and its cost–
for her prisons
(and mine)
for her smile
(an unstrippable smile)
and for the endless nights
blue and
bluer
that she shares with
no
body but herself

and me.