An Ode to Jill
Jill has a silver ponytail, and wears tennis shoes to dance.
I follow her in loops and circles at a springy clip, feeling
through my eyes
the centripetally changing arc of her spine.
In her backyard, on the edge of Duke Woods,
is a labyrinth.
She marked the placement intuitively with metal rods,
like Samuel and his well-finding,
and, with her partner Tom, drew the pattern with rocks,
and layed the mulch.
She doesn't know why she made it,
but it does bring many people to her backyard.
Some say hello, and some walk without
disturbing and leave.
I mirror her hand with my hand, a carving flow,
palm up then down, spiralling around in her memory of hundreds of walks.
I'd like to mirror her hand indefinitely.
This light and rich substantialness comes into my gesture with hers,
and I can't seem to find this quality when I'm alone.
posted by Liza 15.7.03