Dangling Participle

Peering through the darkness on the edge

For the mouth of the crocodile in the murk

Closing eyes imagining the painted dancer

With rose petal softness investing

Depth like threads in prismatic dress bleeding

Streaks of violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red

In wavelengths time shared in sequence that would seem out of order

Except to the ones staring so close to keep eye contact

The motions of the way humans configure puzzles

In pieces of common task arranged in the order life

Organizes the discretion of bombarding atoms

Left to the chance of sight, thought, touch, sound

Tasting the memories of the almost forgotten

In the waft of a flower presented like stardust

Brushed from the shoulder of a jacket to become immortal

Like a promise or a declarative assertion of magnetism

That emboldens men to character

One ponders such in the folds of her colors

That maybe this is what I was molded like the jigsaw’s humor

To entwine so that intelligence, artistic rebellion, pain, and contemplation

Molded a barefoot warrior love to grow like a seed

The way she stares at me listing

Cogs churning in the subtle cells

Thinking that if a creative writer accountant can exist

So can a woman invested in the mind of artistic psychology

Photographs, musicianship, blues to the soul of a dancer

Flirtatious in control owning her body to terms she dictates

Reading the libraries in voracious hunger

So that participation in the world could be a feminine uprising

Contained in the patient warrior of a silent look listening

From the corner of a wall evaluating, drinking the awareness

Of who I am, as me, as man, as soul for wherever this may go

That in this slight inequity of height there is only measurement

Of is this whole capable of being the whole to either end of this spectrum

In time dancing like a dangling participle in wait for its proper place