She Passes Every Day
she passes every day
she strolls
golden liquid
afternoon dance along
the broad streets
ancient trees drop dappled shade
from green hushing leaves
The Girl From Ipanema
plays from her pores
swirls about her hips.
she glides over the smooth cobbles
steps in time to the rolls
of an ancient sea
eyes follow, speculate
cast nets of wondering
try to capture her truth
yet none can see the fire
through the ice
a mask of calm belies all heat
but for her afternoon dance
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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