Pressed against a sacred window,
bewildered, filled with mystery
I follow angles and curves flashing in linear light;
my desperate ballerina –
wringing her fingers and wrists –
weeping movements and jumps on pitiless parquet.
In her crucial dance
she reminds me of a bird –
caught, admired, tortured…
I wish I could break this sacred window
and take her away
from watering mirrors swallowing her youth…
But I am only a tin soldier – brave yet hopeless –
limping each day to look at my desperate ballerina
and love her as only the tin soldier can.