• Her soul is an ocean.

    When I put my ear up to her heart,

    I can hear the waves

    Crashing against her breast.

    Baptized in that water,

    I have been purged of sin.



    I forever have to thank that gypsy soul,

    For teaching me to live the dance.

    She sways to the hum of the violin

    And causes the Earth to revolve

    As it follows the movement

    Of her spinning body.



    She has gone with the caravan.

    Not willing to dance in one place,

    Never growing tired of spinning in circles.

    Not even my heart

    Can keep her nomad spirit

    Calm for long.



    I imagine as if she’s coming back.

    But I know that gypsies never take a map.

    She moves with the way in her mind.

    Leaving nothing but a memory

    Of her beauty,

    The calming frenzy in her eyes.



    I know those eyes will continue to blaze.

    Burning through the night,

    Keeping souls warm.

    Her hair will always attack the air,

    Entangling the universe in its knots,

    Willing each atom of existence to feel.



    Yet, I live on

    Without that One,

    Causing stars to fall,

    As I spin and spin

    In this dance

    All my own.