O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
—William Butler Yeats
In the yard.
Lacy and bright…
Ballerinas in tutus
With white stockings;
They pirouette
And fill the senses
With gracefulness.
Huge flakes
Soft and wet
Clot eyelashes
As they paint the fence…
Until the day,
somber and gray,
Becomes a snowy macramé.