Wind on the Bay – A poem.

When she dances
it’s nothing special.

Her hair willows,
weeping as she dips,
feet arching.

Praying hands knife
to heaven. The prayer
is unheard.

It’s a dance
she performs everyday—
and no one sees.
No one sees her bending
back, muscles taut,
steel cables holding her.
Without those
she collapses.

Becomes nothing—
shapeless.

Like a goddess she spans,
dipping to the ocean
but not touching.

JKolasch