But in my dream, (she told me in the morning) we were in the city but   it was really the country, the people on the street were trees, the car horns were bird song & it   was a blinding afternoon but midnight & you weren’t supposed to be out there like that but I was   watching & you were, you didn’t think I knew it was you in those dancing shoes, the cummerbund & tails, but I was watching,   & I saw what you were dancing & I knew what it meant, the meaning flashed through my veins like icicles &   fire & you knew this even though you did not know this, how it froze me, how it burned me with freezing blue fire,   that step you kept doing, pretending to stand stock still with your secret grace, your sly fandango, I knew that   you knew that I knew & you laughed but you wouldn’t even look at me & that’s why I’m so mad.                     And I said, Hard work being you.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont November 2011