There is a steady thrum
a tension breathes, waiting for its prey
pants behind the blood–red wings;
soon it will spring
like the mighty tiger it is.
the sounds continue, yet
hardly constitute music,
but this is hardly dance–
this is harmony of disdain and attack
limbs scissor the air–
slice, grasp, carve and–
THWACK!
Fierce they thunder
green and black, the bodies
swivel like the crushing vortex,
only to tilt on pristine angles like slices of quivering globes–
the air is cut to pieces
with fury–
this is insanity flung from the heights of
elevated lightning.
by the end of the dance
a storm has been etched in air and watching eyes.
it is beyond comprehension.
it is wind illustrated visible.
One/two/one/two
Legs arms torso pattern.
they express and explore the horizontal and vertical–
a company of artists
with females on stilts
and males rearranging their distance from gravity.
the chaos is constructed.
then music begins to flaunt.
so here is a calculating thrum
glimmering and simmering across the theater floor;
a tension seethes, mandibles gnashing with hunger
as it lies waiting for its prey and
panting behind scarlet–wings;
soon it will erupt out of the darkling backstage jungle
like the mighty tiger it is.
the sounds continue, yet
hardly constitute music,
but this is hardly dance–
it is beyond comprehension.
did we mortals deserve
this torrent of wind
illustrated with sound and fury?