Soave Sia Il Vento
after Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
In the wobbly pirouette between song
& dust, dog-nosed living room windows
& a purple couch that should have been curbed
last July: Saturday sunlight cuts it all every
time you lean into some kind of ballet pose.
Your belly & knobby elbow & leotarded knee
wavering in a slim balance. Jeté, effacé—
I don’t know what they mean & nod anyway.
You reach & spin & dog hair hangs
in the air like the start of heartfelt applause.
Copyright © 2017 by Adrian Matejka. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 18, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.