Momentum

She laid in stillness,

Stillness on the dock in a silent winter's air,

Save her self,

Moving as if one

With the sway of tides,

Yet inside she was spinning.

Her blood danced through veins

In a cut-time, haphazard Viennese Waltz.

Wishes were futures seen

Under swollen magenta-shaded eyes,

That dripped slowly in blue discoloration.

They spiraled endlessly,

Suspended within foam of dizzying whirlpools,

Of "if then's", of "what if's",

Of freedoms yearned from under the weight of chains.

These wishes tuck-turned through the arms of lovers and dreams,

Whose hands were held within a stiff, bony frame.

But there were only choking catch-steps of her breath,

Only the slow, descending coldness from her eyes,

The occasional movement of fingers.

They held the outside of her arms in desperate embrace,

As if in fear of the angular momentum

Of this turning globe.

Cold breaths of midnight passed over her,

Pushing gently,

As if passing inquiries across a table

In fragile paper hearts.

To the world, though, she is still inside,

Eyes fixed like a strong belief

On the horizon, vanishing in late-night blackness.

This is where "hellos" and "goodbyes" fade to gray

And light meets reflection in watery medium,

For this was her end, and it is her beginning:

It is where clarity and control

Turns perilous spins into pirouettes

So her body, once still, may dance into realization.