Sleek needle 
stabbing convivial space - 
black music flows from the tossed face, 
shoulders 
stretched ecstatically, 
contorted, 
drowning floorward - 
hips reeling frivolous passion outward 
as the arched neck swoons. 

Louise, knowing life 
commingles in the music 
of her gaze, 
and flows in the 
light cloak sewn 
with the needle of her dance, 
never ceases 
to contemplate the darkness 
toward which she spirals 
like a dart hurled carelessly 
from birth to death; 

knowing there 
is no net waiting 
as she leaps from 
note to note 
on the half-finished score 
of her desire -

Ode to Louise

(1906-1985)

Louise, whose wise divining of the 
dance of life, 
whirls through stages of 
martyrdom, 
step by glittering step - 

like a lean tree unravelling, 
like a tap dripping lightly -- 
like a fly that will never come down 
until it's too late to be saved. 

- Paul Kesler 

to Paul  ~ to Moongate

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