The Dance

She sits on the couch in stillness,

Tiny as a grain of rice

Uncooked

Cartwheeling across

Blue skies of morning,

Shouting her joy

Without words

To all in beds fast asleep

Where waterfalls plunge

Onto plump pillows

Eroding granite and schist,

Refreshing wilted ferns

And dry trilliums,

Dancing like feathers 

That shimmer

In dreamtime.