Mazurka

The start from glimpsing the face reflected

in a surface, in a gloss. Smooth and flat 

as the copper plate or the surface for

reflecting. The face denies everything that is 

not itself. Copper. Glass. Could testimonies 

of the great beauty ever stand for one's first

glance at the beauty from across the crowded ballroom,

the crowded ballroom, workshop, or city square?

I’d like to be through with beauty. No more 

tricks. No more. Copper. Glass. The crowd surrounds 

a negative elliptical space, a wide space  

for dancing. The great beauty waits in her

finest evening wear for someone eager

to take her hand. To spin her. One shivers 

at the thought of such cloth, what metals might

lace its black knit structures, give it shine.