She skates with the tip of her blades
On a sheet of flattened fiber.
She leaves trails of sraights
Of silenced music
And muted sounds.
She bleeds and lifts her feet away
To breathe midair
As if to say
One more word
Yet one more
To dance as she has danced before.
21 July 2014
When one has abstained from poetry for so long that every stroke became a dance.
Thanks, Aileen Macalintal, for reminding me to just write.