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They stand in a line, these women within frames,
and they are beauty beholden in time,
they move slowly at first, shy to disbelief yet
over time they seem to come alive, these bold
and beautiful dancers, frozen in portraits,
One is Indian with sari of red and bright gold.
She is haughty, she is bold, she is kind,,
She likes to dance and glides in time to the
traditional Indian rhythm, her hands up in the air,
Her feet always moving, mischief is in her eyes,
One is by Degas and she moves in silky sweeps,
her white dress is like clouds floating within
the frame, she has flowers in her dark hair and
she does not smile as she moves to the beat we
cannot hear. She is serious, in training, she
cannot be pinned down, she is becoming the sky,
One we may know from one of Vittriano's pieces,
but the dancer seems to have lost her partner,
with the mademoiselle in her long red dress,
arms up in a frame for her partner's waltz,
the maid stands beside her unknowing,
still holding up her black umbrella, though we
do not notice their wind and their sea, she is lost
in the moment, that has since come to close, and
she longs to be back in his arms, so she dances,
The three frames cannot hold them, these women
of great beauty, they emerge from their frames,
dancing throughout, and they mingle and they
embrace, becoming one song, and they teach us
what dance is all about, it is love, it is desire, it is
a rhythm within our souls.
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