My Little Sister                                                                                                            

            Dance, dance…otherwise we are lost.

                                                    Pina Bausch

Before speaking     I focus on emerald

only then she opens her eyes

my little sister speaks in green

the shades rear up like brambles

she thinks in green and dreams of me

speaking to her in olive or jade

we’re not playing games

she blurts     and turns

I feel my fingers fading away

there’s music in her eyes

a Gaelic harp    we step in time

one foot forward      one to the side

from breeze to gust     a tower thunders

she’s becoming a blade of grass

leaving me     a breath in time

now     and then no longer