Music sweeps us up in a gentle rise,
a sirocco,
a slight swaying of hips.

Black and white in 1971
do not touch
on principle –
flags and floats,
white sheets and ropes,
cowgirl on horseback,
legs gripping the muscled spine of a piebald horse.

Black and white in 1971,
the dance –
startling innocence, electricity

– music is a strand of pearls haunting the air,
velvet breath, long boned fingers,
the golden flash of trumpet that joins us.