{ the young painter’s dance }

she colored in the flowers of intent 
so carefully, between the flowing lines 
that disappeared behind the smearing blots: 
an exercise in freedom from confines. 

she whirled along the river in her mind 
that flowed from every feeling, every pore, 
and watched the ducks that swam along in peace, 
whose labor seemed like love and less like chore 

than those around her: those they call adults. 
who never saw the colors (or the chance) 
to ebb and flow -- the running to-and-fro 
that are a key to every sacred dance. 

  she colored and she painted as she flew 
  beyond the gray, and out among the few.

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