cold dawn slumbers on, unaware
of the baton preparing to strike . . .
dead, forgotten leaves rustling softly together,
declare the threshold of a new day.
this subtle chime awakens one tree,
then another . . . all listening intently
to a mellifluous saxophone melody.
as each bud awakens, another color brightens the sky,
vibrant violet, sapphiric blue, passionate red, brilliant gold.
more and more colors emerge, growing
into an overwhelming explosion of silence.
confidently, bass clarinet engages the dance
the sun's warmth invigorating his steps.
branches lightly graze one another
too innocent to recognize impulsive lust until
english horn and saxophone enunciate
the tango.
saxophone, slicked-hair, smirked-lips, struts forward
english horn steps back regardless, he pursues
faintly, she encourages saxophone whirls elegant horn legs round their melting bodies draw together
spread apart promenading round one another fiercely
eyes melt in fire
lingering hands caressing
every inch of their form
quick flurs
slow embraces passion play of fervor
and denial sensual prurience consumes
their extravagant dance.
bassoons gossip, aghast, first inaudibly
then grow, hysterically. all stop dancing
frightened of intense, forbidden desire.
frightened of a simple dance.
undaunted, one branch embraces another,
bass clarinet requesting trumpet to dance
just once more. indulge
she tries denying herself
careless jubilation
heat of the noon-sun
encourages her
she accepts.
rebellious,
trees resume their dance
now hypnotized,
entranced,
without restraint.
branches mingle,
flute entangles with saxophone.
trees conduct the skies into
frenzied rhythms,
clashing chords,
absolute chaotic dancing
continuously crescendoing
branches become one
twirls, dips,
flutter of skirts,
prancing, cavorting,
dovetailing synchronically,
swiveling hips,
entwining legs,
spinning to and fro,
fierce frenzy,
Caliente! Caliente!
everything blurs together
on the brink of ambrosia, until
suddenly
the sun
starts
setting.
the baton slows, restrains the tango.
clarinet sadly sings as the wind dies
hindering trees into carved figures.
the wind diminuendos, into an almost nothingness
english horn ends the dance – takes her bow –
but still slowly, softly mourning
the end of her exuberant dance
so close to frivolity
mirth
yet, the new dawn will bring more wind
closer to
another tango.