Rond de Jambe

Around the earth,
around the sun,
and through the turnstile
at the 14th Street station,
the rond de jambe à terre
extends like a greeting
and sweeps open, an invitation.
Half moons inscribe the floor,
describe generous arcs, the gesture willing
as if I were ready to run out the studio door,
down the hall, ahead of years—
as if I were calling your name,
exposing all of the dark wants
sewn into my chest.
Then the music modulates,
moves the exercise into reverse
and the foot, leg, heart
fold around to the front
like an embrace.