Flames engulf her heels as she dances.

She moves, as if mist amongst smoke,

Seemingly weightless, she waltzes alone.

My sight, always wandering, always moving, is transfixed on this woman.

Hair like white water,

Her face serene, almost dreaming.

Impulsively I move closer, disregarding the security guard at the end of the hall.

Unblinking I stare at her, as if she will divulge some great mystery long withheld.

A soft hand on my shoulder.

As the elderly man next to me pulls me back, I feel selfish.

Was her splendor mine alone? No.

Her slender hands in eternal grace,

Almost seem to reach forward and caress, as if to say it was of no great importance.

Her name undistinguished, her creator unknown.

Her years restrained by canvas, never moving, never living.

I turn from her, unable to witness her grandeur for another moment.

Now, all I can commit to memory,

Is the graceful unaccompanied dance suspended in time.

That refined foxtrot that I wish I could have joined,

To ease any sentiment of lonesomeness.