The tambourine rattles to the rattling of her body

They move like pulsing, electric thrums

In time, in tone, the serpant, she embodies

Feet leap at the first beat of the drum

Now the tempo quickens, all the audience enraptured, ensnared as the watch, as they listen and anticipate the next hand position

Feel in the floor the new thundering pace as it races and it chases and yet somehow still with grace her arms twitch, legs twist, for the landing we brace

Spine curls, might crack, the arch of her back like a scorpion poised to strike, and quick as a whip, unfurling and snaps, feet slap down and a cloud of dust rises.

She moves like the wind, shutters like a spider, she is agile as a monkey yet as mighty and a tiger.

The whistle of the flute climbing in pitch signals the climax drawing near, you catch the switch.

The subtle shift

Now she’s spinning and dipping like a hurricane, it never ends, how does she keep her head, speed on an upward trend.

Then, like a moment that is frozen in time, she pushes off in a gazzel’s bound, lifted from the ground. I almost forget to rhyme.

She climbs. Closed eyes. Head high. Chin up. A proud smile.

We all hold a breath.

Is this how it feels before death?

Slow, still, the pinochle of life and also the depth.

They some survive

But never truly live

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Then just like that the stop in time has snapped, touch down, feet land, hands clap, all so fast, for the dance, and we all forget the revelation of the past five seconds.