These dancers
with their Cossack-maiden eyes
—glide, jump, spin—
their heads held high,
four chins jut out
with Slavic pride.
Arms like the turgid Volga, flow—
shapely legs stretch
on pointed toe.
Swan-neck curves
in kind repose.
Like Naga’s sabres
in Crimean mists,
hands spin precise
on writhing wrists—
thumbs down,
up!
then finger-twists—
fluid circles,
rapid pivots,
PLEADING FISTS!
Pirouettes, lovely bends in line—
motion slowed
in Siberian
recline ...
... an icy fade in
Tchaikovsky's
time.
The foursome
freezes:
... hushed with rime.
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