10.10.2020

he dances his sadness brilliantly

When he dances of meeting Beatrice that first time, 
he is a youth, his body has no real language, 
and his heart understands nothing of what has 
started. Love like a summer rain after drought, 
like the thin cry of a red-tailed hawk, like an angel 
sinking its teeth into our throat. He has only 
beginner steps to tell of the sheen inside him. 
The boy Dante sees her first with the absolute love 
possible only when we are ignorant of each other. 
Arm across his face, he runs off. Years go by. 

II 
The next dance is about their meeting again. He does 
an enchaînement around her. Beatrice's heavy hair is 
dark and long. She watches with the occhi dolci. 
His jumps are a man's jumps. His steps have become 
the moves of a dancer who understand the dance. 
A man who recognizes the body's greed. She is deep 
in her body's heart. He is splendid. She is lost 
and is lead away by the aunt. Her family is careful 
after that. She goes by in a carriage. He rises 
on his toes, port de bras, his eyes desperate. 
Then she is at an upstairs window of the palace. 
He dances his sadness brilliantly in the moonlight 
below on the empty piazza, concentrating. She moves 
the curtain a little to the side, and he is happy. 
It's a dream we all know, the perfection of love 
that is not real. There is a fountain behind him. 

III 
It is a few years later and they are finally 
in his simple room. His long dance of afterward 
is a declaration of joy and of gratitude and devotion. 
She dances strangely, putting on her clothes. 
A delicate goodbye. Her soul is now free from that 
kind of love. He stands motionless, bewildered, 
watching her go. Then dances his grief wonderfully. 

IV 
We see Dante as an old man. He is a dancer who can 
manage only the simple steps of the beginning. 
He dances the romance lost, the love that never was, 
and the great love missed because of dreaming. 
First position, entrechat, and the smallest jumps. 
The passionate quiet. The quieter and the strongest. 
The special sorrow of a happy, imperfect heart 
that finally knows well how to dance. But does not. 

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