by Solana (Sunny) d'Lamant

The room is always ready
Its emptiness mirrored in silvered walls

The floor, sanded to slickness
waits to accept pressure or rhythm

After a loud day, I dance Satie
to feel strength in my legs

these plies say there is another place
where debts don't compound

I slip my feet into Satieslippers
and move as if shaping beauty is ordinary

I place my Satietorso in position
not beaten but surrender to simplicity

These movements are birds soaring
Hunters stalk. Bullets sing.

Bullets pierce the flock
never touch flesh

The minds, the spirits, the flock
remains whole, remains, remains

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