The "luftpause" is a breath mark,
cloud-floating, wing-fluttering:
air ... air ... air ... (inhale)
The transcendant lift in the polka,
a pause hanging in the broad, cumulus sky.
Lips brushing before a kiss returned,
the tranquil syllable unuttered when it ends.
The breeze as you push open the glass
door into a windswept afternoon.
The time it takes for a murmured incantation,
and the wave of a wand, to translate into magic.
Watch the ballerina at the end of a phrase
stretch im-per-cep-tib-ly—
extending the line.
You could fit a sunlit idyll into the space of that breath,
An elongated moment in musical time.
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