Human Instrument

The stage doesn’t feel
The ballerina’s race of ribbons
Nor does it sit
In the cradle
Of swollen feet
Listening
For the cat strings weep
Waiting
For lacquered soles
To drop
The ripples of rhythm
In the stretch of tendons
That spool the ooze
Of an elongated line
Acquainting the pace
To the slips of salt
Down
Swan backs
While the crowd maintains
Craned necks
To change the belief in sight
Before the snap
Of the human instrument