The Gymnast

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On beam, on parallel bars,

imagine her with rows of sparklers

mapped onto wrists and feet,

or fireflies fitted to boneless waist.

We could watch her then

even in total darkness.

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Or imagine light from inside her

studding her rococo spine,

creating a lace cape,

afterimages in the dark,

while her feathery body curves almost to bursting.

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She waits to start her dance routine,

with hips tightly scrolled.

Arms perk like a squirrel's tail.

Head springs back and forth,

before she leaps, first with her eyes,

over herself

onto solid emptiness.