Were my footsteps on water,

would I float with god’s grace,

each step a flutter upon rain.

Would you see my wings raised high,

not as the predator’s flight,

but rather at one with might’s climb—

the bearer of hope birthed

on the wind’s refinement,

on the breadth of love’s infatuation,

born of the music within the spaces

between silence and next note.

Would you watch my colors swirl

to encircle that harmonious space,

a centrifuge spitting raw emotions

until they bled rainbows,

creating a whirlpool to capture

the music within light.

Were my footsteps on water,

would they let me be the dancer

who glides upon air,

breathing the impossible

through their faith in song’s flight.

Would you feel the dance with me,

or would you reach through my exposition,

rushing forward to your verse?

Let there be no sorrow too full,

for the violin’s ache calls not for me,

nor for music’s breath or water’s blush,

but for the throws of love’s ache.

For the dancers who soar beyond earth,

twisting and spinning,

longing more abundant than the

moonlight’s shimmer upon water,

forever reaching to reflect the sun’s kiss

on her midnight face.

Footsteps on water bless the musicians,

the dancers, the poets and the silence.

They who let the song’s melody rise,

carrying their pain forward

until it can cross to elation,

casting their passion’s echoes

to mirror the moon, the water,

and the colors within.

Each accepts an elusive touch,

their footsteps too fluid for

my slow-moving glacier to hold,

leaving me with only

her mountain’s tears

to grace my steps.

They whisper be still my heart,

for this ache lives on

beyond the violin’s song,

beyond the dancer’s steps—

too gentle and purposeful

for water like mine.