And the Dance Goes On

The languages of Night are soft; And She Who Is the Night abides - Her names are in them all. Intertwining...sensual... Empathy most absolute, This Lady in the Tiger's eye And by the Tiger's side. Earth born at Dusk to willow gray, To midnight sable in full array And black again to opal's play, The dialects remain unchanged: Summer twilight murmurings... Autumn wind on black water Irresolute and resolute This tactile weave of different tongues, Where tangled streaks of fire and smoke Flash inward Suspended like precious gems All captured in the net of stars She casts across Her sky. And the stars.... They are but jewels Shining in the dark Shining through Her hair.... Speak softly all the languages of Night; In darkened rooms imagining Touch another in the velvet of her gown Sing softly in the ecstacy of fingertips When we are less afraid to dream What cannot be seen Her rule is brief... She bids us all to rest before the final storm. She has so little time to dance the night away Before She is the Dawn... Bridde of the first embrace In universal languages... And the dance goes on.