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