My Ballet of Life
Donna Kiser
I watch through the blackness that becomes indigo.
I wait through the indigo that becomes a gold shimmer
of the silky embrace that never disappoints,
the constant rapture that chases shadows
into the brilliant light of truth and touch that
will carry the transformed through the heavens of peace.
A gossamer whisper speaks of quiet hope
longing for the lush joy beyond transcendence.
I sit on a pier of frigid or steamy cement peering
with pounding heart for the explosion of sunrise
over Lake Michigan that presents serenity to a
sleepy, stoic, often ungrateful Chicago.
Powerful serenity to protect without crush,
without smother of the flight.
This is my sunrise, my comfort of
good morning from Grandfather Sun.
My ballet of life in Chicago.
There are others more pronounced,
more famous, more unique, but
none are here, none are mine.
The whispy burnt sienna over Guimaras Island,
the waltz of the sun in Tre Cruces, Peru,
the unforgettable Haleakala, Maui for me does not compare
to sullied gulls screeching welcome in cloudy or clear skies,
to the unimpeded anticipation of possibility.
Nowhere is there my sunrise, my comfort of
good morning from Grandfather Sun.
Nowhere is my ballet of life like this.
