Opus

Opus

She slips an arm forward to gently glide
it into a rhythmic dance of water ripples.
First one arm, then the next, enters to dig
the route her body follows. Her feet
kick a slow, fluttered abbreviation of the beat
until she reaches an end and arcs
chin to chest to retrace the vanished path.
After a seemingly infinite composition
of repetition, she lifts off the liquid dance floor
and stands at its edge to towel off: first
her black hair slicked back into a point
at the nape of her neck, next the legs from
her slim ankles to where the firm thighs meet,
and finally her taut torso.

Each day she water-dances to silent music
only she can hear
before fading back into the rhythm section
of another person's opus.