DANCER

 

In a green field

on a blue day

a little girl is dancing,

the arms down ramrod straight,

the face like fizz

 

and across fifty years

and one wild sea

my mother would still dance

when the mood was on her.

 

I never was a dancer,

but it seems to me

there is fine love, and the fortunate may know it,

there is stark joy, and the best among us find it

 

and we all go dancing at the end

into the bright west

dancing dancing.