The Dancer Poem by Matthew Buchwald

She swayed with casual rhythm,
Wrapped in kaleidoscopic cloths,
Enacting her ritual carelessly,
With a hefty jangle and flare
As she swung her head around
And her hair twirled in a fan.
Gilt leggings climbed above the knee,
Bracelets of silver clasped her arms,
A wine stain lightly bruised her cheek,
Strings of tiger's eye circled her throat,
And weird things used in sorcery
Hung glittering at her waist.
Many spells she cast upon me:
She was eerie and dazzling,
Menacing and moonstruck,
Sinister and solemn.
And in the silence that fell with night,
Muting the cries of a captivated crowd,
The boundless occult cosmos,
Seemed to smile down upon her,
As if looking into the face of
Its own wild-eyed, passionate mother.