Faith, her pleated equanimity
like a burnished curtain on those eyes.
In laps of honour she unbinds and defies
what this waiting world
has left unhidden
Into that poker-faced world she swears
to be just one unmarked body in a traffic jam.
Psyching herself up along wayside fright
on the firing line
margins of freedom might finally equipoise.
This isn't like a sensual tango under the Argentina moon
in a rustle of leaves

You won’t insinuate yourself again inside a balerine!
Quash the round game
till it plays itself out
- tattered her sequelled movements
in a ripe skin.

All lavish senses are to play out to the gallery
Between the road’s legs
- it can be the last dance here or just an empty motion
the lapse of that mind-blazing pang
impending over
portending shift