Ice Dance

The women, a young dark haired Russian, glides over the ice.

Her hairs hangs down and in loops and braids, white sparkles.

A elegant, midnight blue and slight costume makes her a fae.


She is free, spinning and dancing, momentarily floating above.

She is free, of weight, of breath, of all that comes from our flesh.

She is free, a fae beguiling all who watch, all who love her now.


I watch her, and I am lifted too, from my angry mind and hate.

Fae child I fall in love with, grace and pride that comes from blood.

I watch her, and as she spins circles of light, I forget myself.



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