Small

He sees her dancing, the jump in her step
Emphatic
And pointed, she speaks in movement and he tries to listen
She conveys complexities and misunderstandings
In the arch of her feet
And the span of her arms
Reaching for something foreign and of much greater value than
These hardwood floors
He hears her sing, the words of men
Who better describe the mess in her head
But he never responds
He sits and waits and soaks it all in
Just like her voice sinks into
Those old walls
He knows nothing of her world, of the language in her eyes
But when she turns to the window
To glance at the darkening sky, he thinks he might be catching on