Fabric on the Breeze

The little gypsy girl beckons me
Twirling her fingers in the air
In unison with internal drums
Dancing to her own tune
Twisting silken fabric on the breeze
Created from her own rhythmic dancing

She captures me in a wayward shawl
Created by aging mothers and lovers
Forever passed down to this child
That glistens in the living fire
As if brimming with a story
That will soon be told

The splendid colors drifts down my back
Clinging and draping as if it knew where to go
At each breath the colors shifted
At each move the fabric softly sang
Sweetly asking begging to to moved
And who I to refuse such a quiet plea

The gypsy girl and I danced with the fires
Which cast off wild and rhyming shadows
That bounced off the skies and the stone
Cast there from the fires from the skies and from our hearts
Dancing only to what alone only know
Listening to the music from within our feet and the earth