in a whirl of tulle

and white lights

and lace

rosin’d pointes rock away

sticky grid lock

in their place

parties move on

from Silberhaus to 

my own

a growing tree stacks its dust

where festive bulbs

once shone

flower petals brown

in dark skips where

they lie

whispering of stale sweets

and waltzes 

gone by

gauzy ghosts of dancers

now wisp in 

their place

flooding the empty theater

with a harrowed

hallow grace

final bits of chalky snow

flake away and off

the stage

a calendar completely cracked

it must be time to turn

the page…

creepy poetry by a sleepy me, photos of FBP dancers by the talented Jacob Hoover.

for more from Mr. Hoover and his ultra cool camera, head on over here.