I notice her here this evening, watch her closely, intently
listening to a fly buzz and bump up against the screen.
We’re all at this party we wished we wouldn’t have to attend,
but there’s no excuse, so we all finally show up
like flame-drawn moths fluttering in.
The music begins, an old song I faintly recall, memory of childhood.
She’s standing against the wall, I approach her and bow,
extend my hand to request the honor, and she graciously takes it.
We start to turn slowly, a delicate white-laced glove,
the slightest touch on my shoulder, a feather’s weight of hope.
I apply gentle pressure at her waist, her long white skirt
wishing gently as we whirl, I guiding her,
until the moment I see that it’s she directing me,
we two moving in three-quarter time to midnight.