Surf Dancer

Less tied to, one might try as a guess,
A day of precisely choreographed stress
In the ring
Of the Spanish Riding School
(sill lingering
in every perfectly placed
and finely turned limb)
High stepping she
Runs to the surf transformed
As vivid as our morning bed
A tether slipping thoroughbred
Her copper mane
Scooped loose by the wind
As a firestorm of rain.