Gypsy Dance ©

Frenetic fiddles screech the dance
twisting, turning.
Cartwheels of lace-tipped reds and greens,
weightless, distorted.
Their bursts of acrobatics,
balletic silhouetted heads
breathing wood smoke
and brandy-soaked roasting rabbits,
absorb the wild potency.
Hot twigs snap and crackle,
spit burning tangles into oblivion,
as the opiate night
sways the dying swans
through their light fantastic
until the last spark turns to ashes.
Tired candlewicks, black, curled,
swing the edge of darkness
where donkey shadows
wax and wane the blue mist,
that whispers down in silence
beside the sleeping gypsies
who died at dawn.