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Faintly,
after the sun set
after the night fell like
caressing arms on
a yet unproclaimed miracle,
the two-way glass allowed
both a view of the
mathematical chaos outside
and a faithful reflection
of us, at a pause and
jazz-shrouded within.

The moments become breathless
in spite of themselves,
peeling away from
the soft wind that,
in waiting for the right
moment to touch,
lost all its chances
to the acoustic hours
who have the discernment to
not play hard-to-get with
what has always been
impossible to resist
dancing with.

I feel that if I
loved you enough,
time would allow itself
to be talked into
slowing down.

I feel that if I
were honest enough,
I could be like that glass:
a symbol that both eye
and poetry recognize
as the boundary between
the warm August air and
the eight corners of
this cube filled with music
whispering in sign language
with the soul.
.

ballerinainwater
.
“The Beauty of Movement” by photographer Olya BIK

.

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