Fabrice Poussin

Climbing the steps to the realm of ancestries
palms of a right hand trembling in ecstasy
she dares not yet hope behind closed lids to find
a mystery in dark curtains and passed histories.

Light on the tip of those dancer’s limbs
she will venture once again into the danger
and attempt to discover secrets of an ancient soul
as she pushes a door large enough for her fancy.

No light dares come into this abandoned sphere
thoughts swirl with the force of giant hurricanes
but silence prevails between the flying tightropes
of the quiet Arachne weaving a precarious yarn.

Surrounded by lives in dusty patches of many a hue
she floats as if lost in deep space among the stars
waltzing with celestial objects remnants of old fireworks
an ivory doll pale as gray wax in search of a spark.

Pausing on the creaking rocking chair of unknown kin
she becomes still to listen to the murmurs of the universe
for particles of her days live on in terrible planes
parts which she must conquer for her heart to go on.