A Dreamer

Gone are the walls of endless mirrors and narrow barres
The Gallery now stands in their place,
white walls graced by paintings
statues of heroes, lovers, and dancers
captured in marble immortality,
replacing the living dancers.
A dreamer hears the tap of her heels on the floor
hears again the strains of Swan lake
        one, two, three and four and plié
        to the ballet master's tap, tap, tap of his cane,
        one, two jeté, one, two, arabesque, one, two pirouette.
        Once more she feels the strain of tights on tense young limbs,
        the pull on her muscles as she stretched, agony of her toes,
        the sensation of flight as she leaps across the floor.
        Once more alive with the music,
        alive as she stretches her lycra-clothed limbs,
        She dances with all her being, to the strains of Swan lake.
A gentle tap on her arm ends the dance, "It's closing time, Madame."
The dreamer looks up, once more, feels the ache of damaged feet,
nylon on her legs, the fabric of her dress.
She gazes as if for the first time, at the paintings on the white walls,
turns to the guard, smiles wistfully, "See you tomorrow, Pierre"
and leaves in time to the tap, tap of her heels and her cane.