Giselle & Albrecht Reborn

Liberated from lockdowns, self-doubt’s
shackles, caution’s curiosity, psychic’s
premonitions, & certainty’s restrictions,
we crawled through pussy willows on
our bellies, indirectly snaking our way
in serpentine fashion to the Bolshoi river.

Damp, nitrogen-rich soil smelled of
decomposing vegetation, a holy fragrance
that permeated the enchanted embankment
like invisible, ghostly incense—yet stimulated
our soft muscles, once puffy as under-eye bags,
precipitously taunt, firm, toned, pumped, primed.

Nature transformed my love into a prima ballerina
in street clothes & PF Flyers—Margot Fonteyn
to my flamboyant Rudolf Nureyev maneuvers—
after I spread my legs, began to jump, performed
double tours, cabrioles, & attitude turns, she
effortlessly countered with picturesque pirouettes.

Along the waterfront, our two free souls defied gravity
& gravitas alike, no longer searching for a quayside,
we just relished the countryside Royal Ballet; uplifted by
auspicious, enigmatic dance steps, an impromptu
tour de force—light, airy, elegant, & buoyant—we
froze time’s trepidation amid moments of endless levity.