the holes like a dancer in brazil
whose tanned legs reflect a soul
nervously watching her with loyalty
and with the same rupture of elation
upon letting a million of souls dance
the rains play.
But very distinctively I keep my eye
on a little girl when she swirls her arms
and count the pieces of limestone
till there is a fluidity in her movements
to make the earth of thoughts, still,
in the bed of naivety and nature
grow and grow.
For dVerse Poets Pub