ballet in the clouds

to the violin of dreams

At the Swan Lake by Hans Zatzka

i am suddenly awakened
by the sound of a violin
in a dream of birds turned ballerinas.

their tutus, pink and small,
their feathers, all shades of ivory and fuchsia pink.

they dance between baby blue clouds and white skies,
even in storms of purple and aubergine,
golden lightnings flash,
but they keep performing their magical dance.

they spread their wings and flap them
all the way to heaven,
and all i can do
is be one of them.