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The Dance by Haines
For George Hitchcock
The red armchair is empty.
The man who sat there
is turning in the room,
holding in his hands
a painted jungle.
The faces of his audience,
at first like flowers
pale from lack of sunlight,
begin to darken and put on
the look of watchers
in a clearing.
No sound but a furtive
scratching, and the slow steps
turning against smoke
and silence, as the dance
gathers everything
into a haunted forest...
From the bark of those trees
sprout flowers
like drops of blood,
and birds' heads
of a threatening blue.
John Haines