Behind

She always was a dancer
he used to say, behind his curt glasses,
clipped black hair and awkward mouth,
she never could sit still,
entering rooms, furious, throwing hands, hair - blue
like paint spatters on the walls,
no one could catch her words
Spraying breath arcs, spittle,
tales, across the room.
We all loved her eyes,
her dirty toes,
the movement of her neck
and when she stopped, time too,
as if for the briefest of brief
the brightest of bright,
the world appeared
to stop as well