the dancer

The slow silk waterfall caresses her skin, dancing down her arm and weaving its way around her wrist, a ribbon of meaning from a stream of thought that usually flows too subtly for there to be much commotion about it.  She smiles the sad smile that makes me long to be seen, for there is not enough in me to offer all the love she draws out of me.  She tosses the white scarf more securely over her shoulder - somehow it remains dry in the midst of the water - and dances gracefully to the riverbank, and with a playful wink and a child's laughter she is lost in the trees.  Yet when I listen, I can hear her song, soft and pure as no other could ever sing, and I feel certain that home cannot be far away.