Harlequin Dancers

 

They were harlequin dancers,

treading a gracious measure;

music-less, delicate, each of them being

the obverse of the other.

A fortunate conjunction, a synchronicity:

this side of time you may not see again

such symmetry.

α

 They were black and white to each other

snowfall on winter trees.

They were light and dark to each other; now

their days are pitiless, their nights are ice.

She lies bone-bare under desert sun; he

whirls in cold space.

 Masked and bespangled, androgyne,

they spiralled down the years;

but now the aeons weigh them down,

seconds are centuries.

The elegance is broken, the fine pattern gone,

and each is half of each again,

and all of none.

Ω