She danced under the orange moon
as the smoke from burning stubble
hazed the air and made the stars twinkle
like the light in her lover's eyes. Mice ran;
a seemingly endless river of them,
escaping the flames. It didn't matter
that her bare feet crushed a few,
their spines snapping like summer-dry twigs;
a natural sacrifice for the bounty of the earth.
Her eyes shine with moonglow
as her skirts swirl above grasping fingers,
teasing them with the promise of good food
and the hissing of fat as the bones crack
to release the marrow within. Her hands cocked just so;
middle finger to thumb, a path for chi
to circle through her and within her,
drawn from the pale open eyes of her lover
as the heat fades from his body
and her footsteps tread the dance.
© Rachel Green 2016
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