Flowing In Silver Lines

Concurrent timelines run severally in every life,
each time I play Peer Gynt to block discordant
noise in the open-plan office as I confront my
new document, my brain returns to the point
where it left the music, picks up the melodies
and ballet sequence steps

I’m in the high, Gothic cathedral of my mind,
enchanted as my spirit-turned ballerina twirls,
sunlight illuminating her to trills in the music
through high coloured glass, she moves up
and down with running notes, dancing
on her toes

It takes time to return from these images, to
concentrate on plain words about stolen cars,
as the bassoon insists on moving to and fro other
feet join the little dancer, sharp pointed toes,
a ring advances, stealthily at first, the beat
increases, the orchestra joins in the melée

The group executes a vibrant folk dance in
high spirits – clashing cymbals make fireballs
flare, water spouts explode, silver flutes play
coloured coronets - gypsies wildly dance with
castanets until resigned violins announce
a rest, calm groups of ballerinas

In long, white dresses flowing in silver lines move
their arms to resemble the wings of swans - but
the clock is moving on and I force my thoughts
back to the cancellation of the search for a
missing person...