Stolen moments, wishful-thinking, blink-and-we-miss-it instances wherein – a pair of dancer’s kind, kind eyes summarise and rapturously realign

“If I can dance now, I’ll dance forever,” she says

By the violinist’s intrepid sounds of serendipitous silence
The adolescent girl’s magnificent and bare-boned epicentre has been purposefully placated via these mitigated and ferociously forgiving ten-thousand hours of preparatory procedure, the all out war with concentrated, no less conscientious time

And a heavy-hearted, -handed audience holds its readied, steadied waterfall breath, awaits the tantalised anticipation

A tremendously learned, earned upper-crust taste for the carried bliss

“Small steps, look out for the fall…”

Sidled mindfully aside these organically orchestrated just as such dancing dozen ‘eagles’
Who bring with them this shape-shifting feathered creation bound into pulsating place

Swoops to scoop their living, breathing entrails
All of it fictional, borrowed from 1980’s demonstration
Enthused to refuse to fail
And these man-made, hand-made restrictions fashioned altogether fair serenely, impressed to caress and non-stop invigorate against their silken and glistening skins
Of real people
Homegrown bodies and utilised souls pose a pretty, pretty, distracting picture
At the Cirque du Soleil, where only the sounds of violent silence truly knows the way the reconfigured toe will go next

Tried to start a revolution with their pens, said the brains they had went to their heads